The Adventure Of A Lifetime
by officiallymarooned
Summary: Stiles is totally freaking out. But you can't exactly expect a teenage boy to be all calm and just smile and shrug when he discovers he might actually possess superpowers. Also, his new next-door neighbour Derek Hale is blazing hot. Like, literally. But that's an entirely different story...or maybe not.
1. Hello, Stranger

**A/N: Hiya, everyone! This is going to be my first ever chaptered fic! It is set in an AU where werewolves may or may not exist. I'm still trying to decide. There will most definitely be other supernatural elements though. I have a mystery/adventure storyline in mind with Sterek as the main pairing. Almost all the characters of the show will be used at some point in the story. Established canon pairings will remain as is like Scott/Allison and Jackson/Lydia. Hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. :)**

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**CHAPTER ONE : HELLO, STRANGER**

"Leave me alone..." Stiles groaned, pulling the covers back over his head and curling into a ball in its warmth.

"First day of school, remember?" said the older Stilinski sternly and ripped off the covers again, much to the annoyance of his son who reached out a frantic hand and snatched it right back. A tug-of-war immediately ensued, by the end of which neither had won and Stiles found himself fully awake and muttering grumpily.

"Hey, don't worry," said his dad, a.k.a. the Sheriff already dressed for work, turning around at the doorway and looking slightly concerned.

"I'm not!" protested Stiles, sounding crossed. "Just..." - his dad looked like he wanted to say something but thankfully remained silent - "...tired." Knowing how lame that sounded, especially considering he had practically spent the entire summer lazing around and only a few minutes ago had been woken up from a ten-hour long sleep, he stumbled off the bed and zombied his way to the bathroom, not bothering to stay and witness the growing concern on his father's face.

Stiles had never been one of the _popular_ kids in school, he'd be the first to admit that, but recently he'd felt more out-of-place than ever. The fact that he knew exactly why, and his complete helplessness in the matter nevertheless, irked him more than anything though. It wasn't even that he was jealous that his best (and only) friend, Scott, had been spending way too much time with his new girlfriend, Allison, lately and had little to no time for him at all. He wasn't even annoyed that what little time they shared these days was spent with Scott all doe-eyed and cooing unabashedly about everything he and Allison had done or said to each other recently. Well maybe he did feel a little bit of both - jealousy and annoyance. But what bothered and scared him the most was that he felt like he was slowly sinking into oblivion. He felt like he didn't belong anymore.

Allison had suddenly become the sun of Scott's solar-system and he felt like some tiny, insignificant, obscure planet at the very edge, physically present and doing the rounds but it might just as well have been non-existent. He could totally sympathize with Pluto right now. _Poor Pluto..._

It did not help matters that now they were hanging out with Lydia (and Jackson) all the time by virtue of association through a complex network of relations, him being the bestfriend of the other's bestfriend's boyfriend. Yup, it sucked, especially since Lydia - for whom he had somehow festered an unhealthy amount of obsession over the last how-many-years-he-had-been-on-the-planet - probably still hadn't figured out why exactly it was that she found herself wondering why his face looked strangely familiar everytime they met. Ouch!

Drying himself wearily, he stepped out of the shower and reluctantly got dressed. His dad had already left. He grabbed the breakfast from the kitchen table and with a final sweeping glance of surveillance across the living room, exited the house.

_Atleast there is one saving grace in all of this_, he said to himself as he happily climbed into the driver's seat of his beloved jeep and inhaled deeply, his face glowing with pure contentment.

"I missed you too," he purred before turning on the ignition and pulling out into the street. Only once did he slow down briefly to glance at the house opposite theirs, the one that had been vacated a few months ago by a middle-aged couple and their two kindergarten daughters. Even in broad daylight Stiles thought it looked creepy. He tore his eyes away from the grim sight with a shudder and accelerated down the quiet street. Between bites off the vegie sandwich his dad had left him and sips from the disposable coffee cup, he was soon pulling into the Beacon Hills High School's already overcrowded parking lot. Scott and Allison were upon him in an instant, all smiles and giggling at some secret joke. A highly disinterested duo of Lydia and Jackson stood some distance away, engaged in a back-and-forth monosyllabic conversation.

"Hey, you...guys," Stiles offered tentatively before he was clapped on the back by a beaming Scott. "Nice to see you too," he sighed in the general direction of Lydia who hadn't noticed him. Yet.

The day passed by quite uneventfully, the only exception being the dreaded Chemistry class where Stiles found himself as the unfortunate target of one of Mr. Harris' diatribes about his livid horror and utter loss of faith in the future of the human race everytime he was painfully reminded of the general ignorance that ran rampant throughout the class but that which especially and unmistakably manifested itself and reared its ugly head in a few select unnamed individuals. Thankfully there was no detention thereafter.

Lacrosse try-outs after school would hopefully be a less harrowing experience, since he had already made peace with the idea- no, the _fact_ that he would probably end up on the bench all season. Scott was adamant to make first line, however, and Stiles winced through the disaster that his bestfriend's try-out ended up being. He was sure Jackson had rammed Scott intentionally. Even as the boy lay motionless on the ground, the wind totally knocked out of him, the rest of the team erupted in a chorus of racuous laughter and ill-concealed snickers, not to mention their coach, Bobby Finstock, berating Scott's _manhood_, wanting to know if he'd be much better off with a _kiddy diaper_. Only Danny, the goalie, and Allison, who had literally dashed all the way from the stands, reached out to help. Danny removed his helmet and kneeled down to help Scott up. Allison was cradling his face and begging him to open his eyes. Stiles rolled his eyes and reached out a hand.

"Thanks, I can manage now," Scott groaned after the trio had helped him back up on his feet. Allison still looked concerned but stepped away slowly. Lydia and Jackson exchanged a look and the latter walked away with an exasperated look on his face. Still swaying a little unsteadily, Scott dragged himself back to the locker-room with Stiles close behind him, even as their boisterous coach bellowed behind them: "Now, who's up next? Get off the field, Greenberg, and for god's sake turn around so I don't have to see that hideous face of yours!"

They showered in silence and got dressed. Stiles finally let out a long-contained sigh as they slowly made their way toward the parking-lot. He had known all along that something was bound to go down today. First day of school was always the day when everyone was trying to start out on a good note, and for some it simply meant asserting themselves by drawing a clear line between oppressor and oppressed for the rest of the academic session. Jackson had frankly made Scott's life hell last year, and Stiles had hoped that now that he was the boyfriend of his girlfriend's bff, things would finally simmer down. Clearly Jackson's and his rationale operated in completely different dimensions.

"Hey, try not to let it get to you too much, okay?" he said at last trying to atleast provide some form of support to his wounded friend, but even he could detect the unmistakable strain of dread that laced his voice.

"I'm fine," Scott lied but Stiles chose not to press the matter any further.

"Hop in, I'll give you a ride," he said instead, managing a genuine smile at last, as they approached his jeep. Scott grinned in gratitude and deposited his bike in the back.

"Scott!"

"_Allison_!"

It was as if all of Scott's anguish had suddenly evaporated at the mere utterance of his name by that singular person. Stiles turned around to see Allison and Lydia scurrying up toward them.

"Scott, are you okay?" Allison demanded, turning Scott's face this way and that, trying to detect the slightest hint of an injury.

"Allison, I'm more than fine," protested Scott, beaming like an idiot. Allison considered his assurance for a few seconds and finally smiled, relief flooding her face.

"Hey, Lydia," Stiles managed in the meantime, turning to face the girl with the _strawberry-blonde_ hair, but he only received the _Lydia look_ in return, a term he had come up with himself for the very expression Lydia had on her face right now that fell somewhere between disinterest and amusement.

"Right," he sighed ruefully before turning away from the public make-out session that was going on right beside his jeep. Lydia _ahem_-ed and the couple broke apart reluctantly.

"I'm kinda running late for work anyway, so..." Scott said, slightly out of breath, and another minute or two was spent with the two making plans to help each other with studies later that evening at the Argent's.

_Studies, right_, Stiles said to himself and mentally rolled his eyes. He felt ridiculous watching those two and was growing more and more impatient, and judging from Lydia's expression she wasn't exactly enjoying this _conversation_ either.

After painfully long and totally unnecessary goodbyes, Stiles was finally driving his friend to work, as had been the plan all along. Deaton came out to greet them, waving at Stiles who waved back, and then he was on his drive back home. Somehow he was starting to feel better about himself after all the drama that had gone down today. Humming a random tune he slowly pulled into his driveway. He felt strangely happy and fished the keys out of his pocket as he walked toward his front door. Something felt different. He wouldn't have been able to explain the feeling had he been asked to.

It was only then that he realised what was wrong-no, _different_, as he spun around sharply to the sound of a black Chevrolet Camaro coming to a halt outside the house across the street. They had new neighbours. Or atleast _a_ new neighbour, as a solitary individual stepped out of the car. Wearing a black leather jacket and a brooding expression to match, he looked like the kind of brother you could brag about at school. Or terrorise fellow mates with, depending on the situation.

Stiles raised up an uncertain hand and waved. What he got back in return was the most terrifying _smile_ he had ever seen. Atleast he assured himself it was a smile because the only other thing it could possibly have been would be a scowl.

"M-my dad and I live here," Stiles stammered, labouring under a tremendous amount of nerves. Before he could stop himself, he added: "He's the Sheriff." He instantly smacked himself over the head mentally. "Stiles...Stilinski," he offered hopefully.

Stiles debated whether to dig a hole right there and bury himself at the deadly silence that followed next. The man looked like he was only a few years older than him but even from this distance his presence was intimidating. Stiles watched as a parade of varying emotions ranging from surprise to annoyance to downright anger flashed across his face before he met Stiles' wavering gaze.

"Hale," he said at last, and Stiles was confused for a second before the man continued: "Derek Hale."


	2. A Smile In The Dark

**CHAPTER TWO : A SMILE IN THE DARK**

Stiles didn't know which freaked him out more, the fact that he thought he saw Derek's eyes flash with murderous intent during the entire length of their _conversation_ (if you could call it that anyway) or that Derek had immediately turned on his heels and marched right inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The guy had honestly instilled some fear in him and he made a mental note to look up the Hale name to check if it was attached to any serial killer who might be out looking for his next victim. Stiles felt a shiver despite the fact that it was a considerably warm evening and hurried inside, impulsively locking the door behind him.

His dad arrived later that night, having been held out by a late call from a hysterical woman about an intruder at her house only to have found out upon arrival at the scene that the woman was unscathed but that her husband was out cold, having been bowled over by a baseball bat as he attempted to tiptoe his way to their bedroom in a drunken daze. After a rather unappetising dinner best summed up by his dad's not-exactly-untrue comment: "_Vegetable this, vegetable that_" to which he had simply remarked that one day he would be thanking him, Stiles trudged up to his bedroom, determined to finally be done with the History assignment he had been putting off for several days now. The Sheriff retired to the TV with a beer.

Not much was accomplished that night on the paper despite Stiles' best efforts to gather enough enthusiasm to follow Alexander the Great into one of his many battles in his unrelenting march toward world dominion. Eventually he had to put up his hands and call it a night.

As he turned off his light and was about to embrace the oblivion that was just within reach, his eyes involuntarily drifted to the faint light that was coming from one of the windows of the house across the street. Everything came rushing back and all of a sudden he was sitting bolt upright on his bed. He could make out a silhouette sitting by the curtained window. As he watched in utter disbelief, the shadow contorted and stretched until he was certain what had been a man just a moment ago was now unmistakably a wolf. His horror only intensified as an unsightly beast crashed out the window and a second later crashed in through his.

It was at this moment that he woke up screaming, sweat literally pouring out from every conceivable pore of his trembling body. There was a sharp ringing in his ear and he shook his head to shut out the irritating, high-pitched noise. A resounding crash like that of a wall of glass shattering followed next and it was only then that he realised something was going on outside. In an instant he was staring out his window and barely caught the sight of a motorcycle tearing away from the Hale residence. The _sharp ringing_ in his ear from earlier, he realised only now, had actually been a woman screaming. He felt blood rush to his feet.

Quite a crowd had gathered outside by the time he managed to stumble downstairs in his pajamas. People who could hardly be bothered on a regular day to mow their lawn till one could literally get lost in the grass, case in point Mr. Jones who could be seen nearby analysing the situation with all the concentration in the world, now were all in their elements, throbbing with adrenaline. Stepping closer he saw his dad cordoning off the area around the Hale house. Derek stood just outside the front door comforting a young girl who looked to be around Stiles' own age. Okay, he now had more questions than answers despite the fact that he had ventured out primarily in search of answers. Something most definitely had happened here. Who was the girl? Was it a mere coincidence that this had happened on the very night Derek had moved in?

"Dad!" he cried out, waving madly above the crowd. The Sheriff only gave him a concerned look and motioned him to step back. Stiles let out an exasperated sigh. He watched impatiently as his dad walked up toward Derek and the still-unknown girl and seemed to ask them a casual question. The girl nodded gratefully at once. Derek seemed to protest but was soon assuaged by the Sheriff who then motioned for Stiles to come over.

Not quite understanding what on earth was going on, Stiles walked up wordlessly, bursting with questions.

"Hey, son," his dad said, clapping him on the shoulder, "see if you can get these two some coffee, eh?"

"Sure," he found himself answering mechanically, even as he studied their _guests_. The girl, who had shoulder-length ebony-black hair and looked kinda pretty even through her tear-streaked cheeks, had a weak smile of gratitude on her face and wore it all the way across the street to their house. Derek in the meantime looked even surlier than when he had last seen him, which had been only a few hours ago.

"Laura," the girl said as they walked through the door, smiling broadly and extending an open hand.

"Stiles," he replied, shaking the expectant hand and smiling in return. "Nice to meet you, though I'd have preferred it to be under less strenuous circumstances." Stiles did not fail to notice the scowl on Derek's face grow graver so he immediately seated them in the living room and escaped to the kitchen, where he soon realised he'd forgotten to ask them how they'd like it. Gingerly he stepped into the living room again.

"Milk and sugar tops," chirped Laura, whose spirits seemed to have lifted dramatically. Stiles smiled in acknowledgement and turned to Derek nervously.

"Just water."

"Are you sure?" Stiles found himself asking, more out of surprise than anything. Derek, however, gave him such an incredulous stare that he slunk away quietly to the kitchen and immediately set to work.

The Sheriff walked in just as Stiles was carrying the small tray of coffee mugs and a solitary glass of water to the living room. His dad looked weary and for a moment he was suddenly overcome with a deep sense of concern. They smiled weakly at each other and proceeded to face their _guests_, who were huddled closely at one end of the sofa. The sheriff nodded in their direction before removing his jacket and sitting down on the seat opposite the duo.

"So..." Everyone's attention turned to the Sheriff, who paused to take a long sip before continuing. "Welcome back."

Stiles and Laura immediately looked up in surprise while Derek simply nodded at the Sheriff.

"Okay, so is anyone going to explain to me what exactly is going on?" Stiles demanded, his face ridden with confusion. "Because I'm beginning to feel kinda weirded out right now..."

"Same here," chipped in Laura, alternating her attention between Derek and the Sheriff.

"This is Derek and Laura Hale," said the Sheriff, with a strange wistful look in his eyes, and seeming to address no one in particular despite the fact that he was looking directly at Stiles. "They used to live here in Beacon Hills. Your mother and I were good friends with their parents. John and Mary, they were good people."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but words eluded him. So he just swallowed and turned his attention back to his father who continued speaking.

"There was a fire. Derek and Laura were away at school but their parents were trapped inside. There was nothing anyone could do."

Derek had a stone-cold unreadable expression on his face but Laura turned away and leaned into her brother's shoulder at this painful memory.

"I heard about Peter," said the Sheriff, suddenly addressing Derek. "I'm sorry."

Derek looked dazed for a split-second but quickly regained his composure and nodded.

"You two deserve so much more but the world just won't let you be," said the Sheriff, setting down an empty mug. Stiles wasn't quite sure Derek understood that himself, going by the look on his face. "Anyway," he continued, this time rising from his seat, "it's late now. And we all need to be in bed."

Stiles was the first to stand up. He yawned for the longest time, stretching every which way. The look on his father's face, however, stopped him short. It was the _let's-not make-this-any-harder-than-it-ought-to-be_ look.

"Stiles," his father began and Stiles shifted uneasily, "you and Derek, downstairs. Couch."

"You don't need to-" began Derek, looking just as scandalised as Stiles, but the Sheriff wouldn't hear it.

"There's been a break-in at your house. No but's. Laura can take Stiles' bed for the night."

This time even Laura opened her mouth to protest but the Sheriff proved quicker. "Stiles won't mind." Followed quickly by a: "Will he?"

"No, of course not!" Stiles managed, trying to sound genuinely enthusiastic under his father's glare.

Derek mumbled something but didn't say anything in the way of a protest. Stiles led Laura upstairs to his room, apologising profusely about the mess before smoothening out the slept-in bed. She smiled gratefully and after showing her where the bathroom was, Stiles grabbed pillows and blankets and marched downstairs. He barely caught the words "_will_" and "_destroyed_" before whatever conversation had been going on dissolved immediately at his arrival.

"Absolutely no," his father warned him before he had even uttered a word.

"But I haven't said anything!" Stiles protested. "Yet."

"Exactly! But your face said it all. No more discussion about _anything_ tonight."

Stiles dumped the pillows and blankets on a couch and pretended to be extremely crossed, earning him a highly amused look from his father. Derek didn't seem interested in the father-son drama and instead focussed on shuffling through the pillows, picking out one.

"'Night, boys," said the Sheriff and retired to his room upstairs, leaving a very uncomfortable Stiles in the same room with Derek. Alone. In the dark. _Unarmed!_

_Now is so not the time!_ Stiles reprimanded himself mentally as vivid images from the nightmare earlier suddenly flashed through his mind. Derek was already settling in at _his_ couch so Stiles plopped his pillow down on the one opposite and lay down.

"G'night," he tried nervously but wasn't quite surprised when he was answered only by a deafening silence. He sighed and rolled on his side, ready to take the plunge, and that was when he heard the low but unmistakable "_G'night_" coming from the couch opposite his. He didn't really understand why but a huge smile manifested itself on his face at that. And the last thing he remembered was grinning like an idiot as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness with so many questions on his mind that would have to wait for now.

_For tomorrow._ And for once, Stiles just couldn't wait for tomorrow.


	3. A Frightening Revelation

**A/N: Hey, guys! So excited to finally publish Chapter Three. It did turn out much longer than I had originally planned, which is not necessarily a bad thing. I think. I only hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! :)**

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**CHAPTER THREE : A FRIGHTENING REVELATION**

Derek and Laura had already left by the time Stiles woke up the next morning. He stumbled groggily to the kitchen where his dad sat at the table, a cup of steaming coffee in front and the morning's paper held spread-out in the air before him. Feeling slightly light-headed, he pulled out a chair and slumped into it like dead-weight.

"They left early," his dad informed him nonchalantly as though they had been right in the middle of a conversation, lowering the paper briefly to take a sip of scathing-hot coffee before disappearing behind the front-page again. Stiles let out a loud sigh and made a non-committal sound, but said nothing.

The Sheriff, already dressed to go, lowered the newspaper and folded it neatly on the table before raising a questioning eyebrow at Stiles. "Don't you need to be going somewhere _really_ soon?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and rose to his feet wearily. Apparently his dad wasn't going to be _discussing_ anything with him right now. "Fine," he muttered and dejectedly went upstairs to get ready for school, completely oblivious to his father's knowing look of amusement.

Stiles hadn't been surprised to hear that Laura was Derek's sister. In fact it had only validated his own pre-conceived suspicion. Obviously there had been a break-in, but the question that bugged him the most was: _had the Hales really been just unfortunate to have experienced this on their first night at their new residence, or was there something else going on beneath the surface?_ As he mulled over this burning question in the shower, his frustration growing incrementally with every passing second at his own ignorance on the details of the whole incident, his father's voice suddenly drifted up from the living-room to inform him that he was leaving for work, and then a measured pause later, a cautionary warning not to be late for class.

"I know, have a nice day!" he shouted above the rush of water, hardly concealing the irritation in his voice. A few seconds later he heard his father pulling out of the driveway. Spewing out a steady stream of incoherent curses, he sped up the process of rinsing off the soap and stepped out of the bathroom.

_Something or someone had better brighten up his day._

"Scott, you won't believe what happened last night!" Stiles cried out, oozing with unrestrained enthusiasm, the moment he saw his friend sulkily roaming the corridors like a lost puppy.

"Lemme guess, late-night break-in on your street?" Scott replied absently before noticing Stiles' disbelieving expression and adding impatiently: "Dude, it's Beacon Hills!"

It was true. Here in the close-knit community of Beacon Hills, one man's secret was everyone's to keep. Stiles, however, had too much on his mind right now to let a single disappointment damper his overall enthusiasm. "I think it was more than just a break-in," he said a little out of breath, half-jogging to keep up with Scott who seemed to be walking around aimlessly and pretty darn quickly at that.

"What makes you say that?" Scott asked, still not sounding as genuinely interested as Stiles would have liked him to be; then continued in an extremely anxious tone: "Where _is_ Allison?"

"Because I just do! Something felt..._off_."

"The police don't think so," said Scott, craning his neck above the packed corridor. "They even have a suspect."

"_What?_" cried Stiles, stopping in his tracks and staring wide-eyed at his friend as though something unearthly had suddenly sprouted on his face.

"It's all over the damn front-page, Stiles!" explained Scott in exasperation, turning to face his friend before pulling a highly frustrated face and exclaiming, "And where the hell is Allison?!"

Damn, his father must have had a hell of a good time this morning dangling all the information right in front of his nose with him too worked-up to care. The thought was almost funny. As the son of the Sheriff, one is _expected_ to have a more up-to-date knowledge on certain matters than the general public, and being passed on second-hand knowledge was an embarrassment second to none. "Did they say who the suspect is?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"Um yeah...Isaac..." There was some hesitation from both boys as their eyes slowly met and Stiles' widened in an unspoken question.

Scott nodded first in confirmation before speaking. "Isaac Lahey," he said simply and looked away.

"_Isaac Lahey_?" Stiles reiterated in disbelief and Scott replied impatiently, "_Yes_, our classmate Isaac! Now can we please stop talking about this? Because I really need to find Allison!" And with that Scott vanished into the chattering mass of hyperactive teenage highschoolers thronging the corridor, but Stiles hardly noticed because his mind was racing at break-neck speed now. Something fell into place somewhere and his eyes widened at the realisation.

The shrill sound of the bell drilling into his eardrums snapped Stiles out of his reverie in the middle of a busy corridor. Some people were giving him weird looks while others were obviously snickering, but he didn't care. He gathered his books and headed straight for first-period Chemistry with Mr. Harris. Even the thought of forty-five minutes with his least favourite (which was putting it mildly) teacher was not enough of a deterrent to his immediate urgency to talk to Scott.

The class, however, he discovered upon arrival, had started without him. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward him as he entered, and Mr. Harris raised up a hand in his direction to stop him from advancing any further. Stiles ground to a halt, gasping for breath, as his impatient dash for his seat was cut short. The lean, bespectacled figure spared him a cold, condescending look before rising from his seat. "Yes, Mr. Stilinski! I'm sure there's been a mistake because the next class is not due for another 40 minutes."

A few snickers were heard around the room and Stiles shifted uneasily. He opened his mouth to give an impromptu excuse for being all of _five minutes_ late but was muted by the hand again. "Don't bother. Take a seat quietly and remain so until the end of the period. Make a sound and it's detention. Am I clear?"

Stiles opened his mouth to answer but remembered the warning in time and nodded instead. Mr. Harris seemed to be enjoying his misery, waving him off with a flourish. Turning to face the class he was hardly surprised to find a sea of faces in varying stages of distortion, each struggling to hold back a laugh. He walked to the back of the class and it was only then that he noticed that none of the seats in the immediate vicinity of Scott were vacant. Also, the girl seated right behind Scott and watching him with concern as he approached might easily have passed for- no, it was her. _Laura. Hale._

Laura looked like she wanted to reach out and pat him or something. He gave her a small smile and settled into the empty seat behind her.

_This day had better not get any worse._

To his left was Lydia in all her perfection, staring at...of all the other people of interest in the room, damn it, Jackson. Or more precisely, his back as he was seated in front of her. Danny - who he kinda secretly thought wasn't bad-looking at all (fine, maybe the guy was kinda cute in a way, but that was totally besides the point) - was seated on his right. Skip one seat forward on the row to his right and Allison was completely engrossed in _eyeing_ Scott, who by the way wasn't exactly discouraging her. Maybe it was just him being hyperattentive to details but those two were totally making out with a class in session. The thought itself was revolting so he turned away and tried to concentrate on the lesson.

After twenty minutes had passed, which, frankly, had felt more like twenty decades, Stiles just couldn't hold it in anymore. Mr. Harris seemed to be busy reading something at his desk. This was his chance. Carefully tearing a slip of paper from his notebook, he scribbled a note.

_Isaac not involved! They got the wrong guy!_

Gently nudging Laura to get her attention, he placed the note into her hand and whispered instructions on its delivery. Stiles watched as an annoyed Scott turned around, smiled apologetically and then accepted the note. He couldn't see Scott's reaction but judging from the way he was shaking his head, he had a pretty good idea. Five minutes later, a note returned through Laura.

_Then who is it?!_

Stiles considered the impatient tone of the note for a second but quickly dismissed it and began to scribble his reply.

_Don't know. But I saw the intruder last night. It was a woman!_

The last note stimulated no reply and the subject remained unspoken about until lunchtime, as the usual gang of five sat uninspired at their table, plodding through an unappetising ensemble of multi-coloured snacks. Stiles casually unearthed the topic, carefully gauging everyone's reactions, especially Scott's.

Trying to bring it up in a roundabout way as possible, he faked a yawn with well-practised ease and remarked: "Break-in on our street last night, got so little sleep..."

The others showed sparks of interest as they turned toward him but Scott simply rolled his eyes.

"_Hey_, Stiles!"

Stiles turned around to find Laura standing beside him with a lunch-tray, smiling brightly. "Mind if I join you guys?"

"Come on in," Stiles replied enthusiastically, speaking for everyone at the table. Introductions, it turned out, were quite unnecessary as everyone had _heard_ of everyone. The conversation stayed clear of the Hale incident from the previous nught, with conscious effort from everyone. It was not, however, to remain ignored for very long because such topics always have a way of finding their way into conversations, howsoever carefully censored they might be.

"Isaac had it coming if you ask me," was the casual remark from Jackson that eventually marked the end of the strenuously maintained embargo on the subject. All eyes immediately concerted on him and Jackson squirmed in his seat. "_What?_ It's true!" he defended himself with very little credibility.

"It _wasn't_ Isaac!" Stiles shot back and this time he was the one under the _spotlight_.

"Uh...I'm sorry?" said Jackson, laughing. "And you know this, how?" No one else said anything but the look on everyone's faces told him the sentiment was mutually shared. Except Laura, who appeared to be genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"I saw the intruder from my window last night," he explained, and received a few confused looks. "It was a woman. And she made her getaway on a bike." Letting out all this information after having suppressed it for so long was like revealing a horrible secret after years of hiding it. You feel a tremendous amount of pressure lifted, but at the same time still worry about the possible repercussions.

Allison was the first to recover her power of speech. "Are you sure? This is huge, because Isaac might have been wrongly apprehended!"

"_Or_," Jackson took over, "Stiles might have been you know..._seeing things_."

"What do you mean?" Stiles countered at once. "I saw what I saw. And thank you very much, but I think I've got the gender differentiation part covered."

It was Lydia's turn. "Um..._gender differentiation_ is actually a social issue of great concern for many people so let's leave it at that. But I think what you meant was that, late one night, looking out your window, if you clearly happened to see a _person_ making their getaway on a bike after a break-in at your neighbour's, you'd immediately be able to tell if the intruder was a man or a woman."

Stiles blinked blankly as the words sank in before breaking into a smile. "Exactly! Thank you, Lydia!" Seriously this was a day of miracles. _Lydia actually defended Stiles against Jackson!_

Jackson crossed his arms and exhaled noisily, but remained silent. The conversation lingered on the topic for the rest of the lunch-break, postulating on the possibility of Isaac's innocence. Laura revealed that nothing had been taken despite the break-in. She had got out of bed around one in the morning to go to the bathroom down the hall from her room. That was when she noticed a figure at the bottom of the stairs. She had screamed immediately, and by the time Derek had come running to her side the intruder had already escaped by smashing a window with a flower-vase. Neither Derek nor Laura had managed to get a good look at the person though.

The rest of the day passed by without any incident. After school Laura asked Stiles if he could give her a lift back home since Derek had called to say he had been held back by business. Along the way it was mutually agreed that Stiles was officially promoted to the position of her regular chauffeur.

Stiles asked what _business_ Derek was in, and Laura laughed before answering that he was a writer. (_Wow, who would have guessed? Apparently not Stiles._) Laura was seventeen, the same age as Stiles, and Derek was twenty-two. Stiles asked if Derek was always so brooding and Laura replied that while he was the sweetest brother to her, Derek usually did not take to strangers easily. After their parents had died six years ago, they had been taken in by their uncle, Peter, their father's younger brother. Laura continued with tears in her eyes that only two months ago, when she and Derek had been out grocery-shopping, Peter had been murdered in their apartment. There had been no witnesses and police still had no leads in the case. Derek had suggested that they move back to Beacon Hills soon after and that was how they had landed here now. Laura revealed in the end that she had always wanted someone to talk to about all these things, before finally thanking Stiles for listening to her. Stiles smiled and assured her that he'd always be there if she needed someone to talk to. Laura smiled gratefully.

As the jeep finally came to a halt in the Stilinski's driveway, Stiles thought he felt so much closer to the Hales now, even though he hardly knew them at all. Laura had shared so much. And Derek...well, as for Derek, Stiles felt that he was finally beginning to understand him. A little. But it was a start nonetheless.

Phone numbers were exchanged before parting ways and Stiles almost laughed thinking that he had got farther with Laura during a fifteen-minute drive than he had ever accomplished with Lydia in...well, his whole life.

The biggest surprise came about an hour later, however, when he received a text from Laura.

_can u come over 2 our plc? derek wants 2 talk 2 u :)_

His first reaction was apprehension and panic but he managed to calm himself down. _He just wants to talk_, he chided himself. But knowing it was Derek, a _talk_ was so much more than just a talk. Because as far as he'd seen, Derek didn't do _talk_'s. Not exactly sure what to expect, Stiles found himself outside the Hale house. The door flew open before he could ring the bell and Laura greeted him with a grin. "You came!"

The remark caught him off guard and he wondered for a second if they had been playing a horrible joke on him. Laura, however, smiled and ushered him in. The layout out of the house looked quite similar to their own, only more _new_. In one corner of the living room several enormous boxes sat piled up on top of each other. Laura explained with an embarrassed laugh that they had yet to _unpack_. Derek appeared in the room then, wearing a black tank-top that seemed to _exhibit_ his impressively maintained body so much so that Stiles found himself blushing just staring at him, and black fitting jeans to match. Stiles gave a nervous smile.

"So Laura's been talking all evening about you," Derek said, making his sister turn a light shade of pink, before adding: "You seem to have made quite the impression." Stiles could only smile weakly in return. "Drink?"

"I'm good, thanks," he replied, confused about this totally opposite version of Derek that smiled and offered you drinks rather than scowl and intimidate you.

"She's also been telling me about what you saw last night," Derek continued in a more serious tone. Stiles nodded and swallowed. "It was pretty dark, I couldn't make out a thing."

Stiles ignored the obvious intent of the last statement and was about to say something along the lines of how lucky they were that nothing was taken, but what came out instead was: "There was a light on outside." All three occupants of the room stared at each other for a few seconds, no one speaking up.

Finally Laura broke the silence. "Wolf, you had something to show Stiles, right?" Derek looked helplessly at Laura as she laughed. Obviously he wasn't comfortable being called by his nickname in public.

"You know you can't call me that in front of people," he complained, looking slightly embarrassed, but Laura continued laughing.

"Well, I can. You just don't want me to." Laura stuck her tongue out but immediately ducked and ran away as Derek attempted to get a hold of her.

Derek did not run after her but simply called out: "You know I'm going to catch you sometime, Kitty!"; at which Laura sheepishly tiptoed back into the room. This time it was Derek's turn to laugh.

Stiles watched in awe at this side of the Hale siblings that he would hardly have guessed. They had nicknames for each other and teased each other. In their genuine laughter Stiles could detect a strange sense of family he had all but forgotten now.

"Stiles." Derek motioned for him to come to the couch where he was sitting. Stiles sat down next to Derek as the latter began: "Laura probably told you everything by now. Peter, our uncle, was murdered two months ago. He had always been a man of many secrets and as close as a relationship I had with him I don't think I've ever truly known him." Derek sighed wistfully and Stiles wondered why he was telling him all this. Laura had, in the meantime, wandered off and Stiles couldn't see her anywhere nearby.

"Before I go on, can I trust you, Stiles?" Derek asked all of a sudden and Stiles looked up in surprise and confusion. Derek sighed softly and continued: "I'll admit, when I first met you I was on my guard thinking you'd be one of those arrogant, noisy kids, being the son of the Sheriff and what not. But from what I've seen and from all that Laura has told me, I think I owe you an apology. She seems happy for once in a long time." Derek paused to allow a content smile to slowly spread across his face. "I want her to be happy. She needs someone to give her that I think."

Stiles realised what Derek was implying and instantly opened his mouth to clarify but Derek read his expression first and asked bemusedly: "You two aren't...?"

For some weird reason Stiles felt a little disappointed that Derek had thought he was interested in his sister. "We're just friends," he explained, managing a small smile. Derek looked at him for a brief moment with an unreadable expression on his face but turned away quickly to grin, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just assumed," he said, looking slightly flustered. "But my question still remains valid: can I trust you?"

Stiles didn't know what to say. He knew next to nothing about Derek. Derek probably knew even less about him. They had barely met and they weren't even friends. Yet. Why was Derek asking him this anyway? You don't just walk up to a random stranger and ask questions like these.

"I need to know, Stiles," Derek pressed, his voice lower this time, almost hushed, and his eyes pleading. And in that instant Stiles knew, despite all the reasons he had just listed, he knew. He didn't know how he knew. He just did.

"Yes," he found himself saying, and he knew it was the truth, "you can trust me, Derek."

Derek's face lit up with a smile, looking almost relieved. "Thank you," he said simply. Stiles didn't understand but he smiled back nevertheless.

"So," Derek continued, leaning back into the couch, "my uncle, Peter. The day he was murdered, he was acting pretty strangely. He pulled me aside and told me that I had to find him before it was too late. He made me promise that I would find him."

"Who?" Stiles found himself asking.

"That's the weirdest part. I don't know. He just kept saying _him_. When I asked him he simply said he would tell me when the time came. Which never did come. We found him dead three hours later, stabbed through the heart and lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor."

Stiles grimaced at the vivid image that manifested itself in his mind. Derek continued speaking. "Then a lawyer came one day later with my uncle's will. He had left everything to me and Laura. But he also had one sealed envelope that was to be handed to me only in the event of his death." Derek reached into his back-pocket and pulled out a small brown envelope. "This."

"What was in it?" Stiles asked hotly, heart beating slightly faster now. He watched dreadfully as Derek swallowed and retrieved a small, yellowish paper from the envelope and wordlessly handed it to him. Stiles took the paper and unfolded it to read the message inside. There were just three words but just the sight of them made his blood run cold.

**I SLIT SKIN**

Stiles looked up for some form of explanation from Derek but his face was just as livid as his. He had started out listening with great interest to Derek's story but this _plot twist_ was definitely something he could have done without. In short, he was scared.

"I was hoping you'd be able to make some sense out of it," said Derek, nodding hopefully at the paper that Stiles held in his hand.

"For all I know it's a serial killer's dying confession!" Stiles exclaimed, shocked at his own words.

"No, my uncle would never..." said Derek, trailing away as he found himself unable to complete his own train of thought. "He always liked to play around with words and ideas, arranging and rearranging until several different meanings could be read off a single phrase. It has to mean something!"

Stiles looked at the words again but could not make out anything. Maybe his mind was too garbled now to make heads or tails of anything. Maybe they needed someone else. Someone who had no background info on the _problem_. Someone for whom it would simply be yet another word-play problem waiting to be solved. Someone like...

"Lydia!" exclaimed Stiles with an expression that would have rivalled Archimedes' _Eureka!_ moment. When Derek only kept staring at him vacantly, he shook his head and explained: "My _friend_, Lydia. If she can't solve this I'm afraid we have no hope." Derek looked sceptical, so Stiles added: "She won't know anything behind it. She'll think it's just another problem or something." It felt a little strange using the word _friend_ here but Stiles thought Lydia wouldn't mind.

"Fine," Derek replied, not looking completely convinced though. Stiles, however, had already started typing out a text.

_WORD-PLAY CHALLENGE:  
Make sense of the phrase "I SLIT SKIN"_

And like that the text was sent. There was no guarantee that Lydia had not already deleted his number, which he had made a point of saving in her phonebook without her knowledge during lunchbreak a few days before summer started. Hoping for the best he turned to face Derek as a thought just crossed his mind. "Hey, Derek, remember how your uncle said he would tell you when the time came? Maybe this was his way of saying it."

"What good is it now anyway?" Derek replied, closing his eyes and exhaling wearily.

Stiles opened his mouth to make a reply but his phone vibrated in his pocket at that moment. Pulling it out he saw that it was a call from...Lydia! This was _brilliant_! Grinning madly he received the call: "Hey, Lydia."

The grin vanished the next instant, however, as Lydia's cold voice drilled into his eardrum. "That wasn't funny!" Okay, atleast she knew _who_ the text was from.

"Ah, so you solved it?" Stiles asked hopefully.

"Of course!" came the instant reply, as though offended the subject was even up for debate. "Creep. Next time keep your riddles to yourself." Oh god, now he'll have to pretend his whole life he didn't just hear her call him that.

"Um...what's the answer?" he asked nervously.

There was a short pause. "_Really?_"

"Please?" It sounded like the pathetic plea that it was.

"It's an anagram of course!"

"Lydia, the answer."

"Oh my gawwwd...I'll text you!" And the line went dead. A text followed a few seconds later.

"Derek, it's here!" Stiles exclaimed breathlessly and the two peered into the tiny screen as Stiles opened the text. Nothing in the world could have prepared them for the answer - that one singular word that loomed in front of them.

**STILINSKI**

Stiles' brain was already doing loops as the letters unscrambled themselves over and over again in his head. I-S-L-I-T-S-K-I-N...the letters slowly unhinging and morphing into the one word...S-T-I-L-I-N-S-K-I. This made no sense at all.

Stiles was still standing rooted to the spot as Derek shook him back to reality. "Stiles, your dad..." he whispered, face turned ashen. Stiles only paused for a second to consider his words before realisation dawned on him and the next instant he was bolting out the door. Derek followed right behind him just as a bewildered Laura entered the room carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits and shouting after them: "Hey, you two, where are you running off to?"

Stiles, however, did not hear her. Nor did he hear Derek calling after him. And no, he did not see that black SUV coming down the street, atleast not until it was ten feet away from him, brakes screeching. A hand grabbed him and pulled him away. Next thing he knew he was lying on top of someone right in the middle of the street. Looking down he saw Derek, still flushed with adrenaline and staring right back at him, bearing an expression of both relief and concern tinged with a little bit of anger. He could feel their hearts hammering wildly in between. And he just kept staring down at Derek, unable to move or think. _Or breathe._

"STILES!"

He turned around sharply to see his dad towering behind him, glowering with an expression that looked like a bizarre blend of rage and relief. He grinned right back, even as Derek groaned beneath him and told him to get off him already.

* * *

**A/N: So that's where I'll leave you guys at for now. The adventure is only beginning. What our young friends haven't realised just yet is that they are right at the threshold of something extraordinarily beyond anything they could ever imagine. Next chapter we'll see more of Isaac. Also Scott, Allison, Jackson and Lydia as they are slowly drawn into the mystery. More puzzles, sinister plots and unexplained incidents coming along soon.**

**Stay tuned. And please review, if you can, because the greatest motivation for me is always your feedback. Till chapter four, take care. :)**


	4. A Message From The Dead

**A/N: First, a BIG thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or followed this story so far. Your continued support is my greatest motivation. Also, this chapter took a little longer to write than normal, I really don't know why. I won't delay you any longer, read on and enjoy. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR : A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD**

How she ever managed to accomplish the feat might forever remain shrouded in mystery, but before she realised it herself Laura had somehow stumbled across the grass to the middle of the road, tray with coffee and biscuits in hand with the contents still very much intact, where the two boys now lay, one straddling the other. The Sheriff still had an unrelenting, hard gaze fixed on his son, whose grin slowly faded away under the drilling glare. The incident had already attracted quite a number of spectators, and some of the _newcomers_ were currently being enlightened with first-hand narations from witnesses.

"Stiles!" A highly impatient hiss coming from directly beneath him suddenly made Stiles realise that he had probably been sitting on Derek's stomach a little too long for comfort. Slowly rising to his feet, what had been temporarily forgotten in all the confusion suddenly rushed back into his head all at once.

"Dad, there's someth-" he began breathlessly but the rest of the sentence never managed to make its way past his lips as an ear-splitting sound suddenly resonated across the neighbourhood and an instant later the Sheriff's body crumbled to the ground before his horrified eyes. "DAD!"

The tray slipped from Laura's hands and hit the tarmac with a clatter as cups and biscuits bounced off in every direction. A cacophonous uproar immediately ensued comprised primarily of shrieks, cries, wails and a whole medley of others that fell into no particular category. It took a few seconds for Stiles to snap out of his shock. He looked around and immediately identified the shooter standing a few feet away at the side of the road, a man who looked to be no older than thirty and looking just as scared as he did. Stiles noticed another man sneaking up behind him and an split-second later the shooter was knocked off his feet and lay pinned to the ground, and the man holding him in place, Stiles observed wide-eyed, was none other than Allison's father, Mr. Argent.

Kneeling down, Stiles observed that his dad had been shot in the back and was now bleeding profusely. He lifted his father's head gently, at which the older man opened his eyes weakly and attempted a small smile. He could hear the blazing siren of an ambulance approaching in the distance even as his eyes brimmed over with tears and overflowed. A hand softly landed on his shoulder and pulled him into a firm one-armed hug. Through a hazy film of tears he looked up to see Derek kneeling beside him.

"Chris!" Stiles did not have to look up to know that it was Victoria Argent, Allison's mother, who had always struck him as - for lack of a better word - _frightening_.

"I can handle this, go attend to the Sheriff!" came the urgent reply and Stiles heard a set of determined footsteps coming towards them.

"Try not to move him too much," said Victoria, in a matter-of-fact tone, kneeling down and unbuttoning the Sheriff's shirt. She then looked at the two boys, first at Stiles then Derek then back to Stiles again, before turning around to look back at her husband. "Chris?"

"I know," Mr. Argent replied calmly, busy with the task of keeping the shooter immobile on the ground. Victoria turned back to face the boys with a smile, but Stiles could tell that beneath the composed exterior her mind was occupied with something grave.

A police car and an ambulance arrived at the same time, and Stiles heaved a huge sigh of relief. He clung on to his dad impatiently even as the medics seemed to be taking quite the leisurely route in coming to their aid.

A young officer approached them first and exclaimed: "Sheriff?!"

"_Over here!_" cried Mr. Argent impatiently from the other side of the road. The officer hurried away as the medics finally descended on them and lifted his father into a stretcher. Several readings were taken and an oxygen mask was placed over the Sheriff's face. A blood-curdling shriek, however, instantly drew everyone's attention toward the source of the unearthly sound. A hyperventilating young girl stood nearby while Chris and Victoria stood on one side and a horrified officer on the other as a convulsing figure lay writhing on the ground. It was the shooter. Mouth slightly agap as though struggling to breath and skin reddened, he arched his whole body back to an impossible degree and then finally ceased to move. An unnerving lull descended on the place while Chris slowly bent down and felt his pulse before rising and solemnly shaking his head. The man was dead.

One of the medics immediately rushed over while the other two quickly rolled the Sheriff into the back of the ambulance. Stiles followed right in to sit beside his father.

"Wait, I'm coming too," said Derek urgently as the door was being closed. The medic looked like he was going to protest but held the door open as Derek nodded at Stiles and quickly added: "I'm with him." Stiles looked at Derek in surprise but could deduce nothing from his expression. Derek climbed in wordlessly and the door was closed. Stiles barely caught a glimpse of Laura looking on with concern from a short distance away.

The long drive to Beacon Hills Hospital would forever be etched into Stiles' memory as one of the most desperately helpless moments of his life. He prayed that his father would be alright. He dared not even think of the worst. He tried several times, unsuccessfully in the end, to shut out the panic attacks that threatened to simmer up. The suffocating insides of the van appeared to be closing in on him as his breathing became ragged and his vision began to blur. It was Derek's voice that ultimately snapped him out of his condition.

"Stiles, calm down." Derek was kneading his shoulders soothingly. "It's going to be fine."

Stiles wanted to believe those words so much, he did, and he tried. But in the end he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he just smiled weakly. Derek didn't seem convinced and forrowed his eyebrows in concern but didn't say anything.

As soon as they reached the hospital they were instantly swept away in a flurry of activities. More people began taking more readings and several medical observations that made little sense to him were made. He followed the group of medics that briskly wheeled his father away to the ER and was asked, kindly but sternly, to remain outside as they attended to him. Derek gave him a look of reassurance and led him away to the small row of seats that lined the wall outside.

"_Stiles?_"

Stiles immediately recognised the voice but still looked up slowly to verify. It was Melissa McCall, Scott's mother, who was a working staff in the hospital. Growing up with Scott as his best friend, Melissa had, over the years, become some sort of a mother-figure for Stiles. And right now the look on her face was one of utmost concern.

"It's my dad," Stiles said quietly, answering Melissa's unspoken question and confirming her fears.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, hands flying up to cover her mouth. "What happened?"

"He was shot," Stiles replied, his heart nearly sinking to the floor.

"Oh no...how bad was it?"

"I don't know."

Melissa took a few seconds to compose herself before speaking again. "Stiles," she sighed softly, sitting down next to him and gently taking his hand in hers, "he's going to be alright. I promise you." She ended with a smile and Stiles wondered why she would say something like that. But what she said next astounded him and he thought he caught a glimpse of something unexplainable as her smile broadened. "I just know it."

The waiting seemed to last forever but when the news finally came that his father's condition was _stable_, Stiles couldn't recollect any other time when he had felt more relieved or happy. The bullet, they were informed, had missed both the spinal cord and the heart by millimetres. Derek simply looked on and beamed at the bouncing seventeen-year old before him.

Derek had been adamant on staying the night but Stiles had told him that he had better go back to check on Laura. He had left shortly after that, still a little hesitant. Now in the silence of the room, his father was still sedated, so Stiles just held his hand and spent a greater portion of the night simply staring at his father's serene face, thanking the heavens and allowing the occasional tear to trace its path down his face. Melissa checked on them frequently all night, even bringing Stiles pizza and coke once.

* * *

The following morning he was gently nudged awake by a smiling Derek, Laura by his side. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, it took several seconds for his brain to fully _wake up_, realising only then where he was and why he was there.

"Thank you," he said, smiling graciously, as Laura poured him a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed it to him.

"_And_," Derek said, his eyes glimmering with excitement, "I also made us..." - he pulled out a sizable Tupperware container before opening it and unwrapping the aluminium foil inside - "grilled cheese and ham...sandwiches."

"_You?_" Stiles laughed as the inevitable image of Derek in an apron in the kitchen popped into his head. His mouth, however, was already salivating at the incredibly delicious aroma teasing his nostrils just now.

"Hey, I've got quite a formidable list of skills on my portfolio," Derek replied, trying to pretend to be offended but not exactly succeeding at it.

"I bet _acting_ isn't one of them," Stiles replied coyly, causing Derek to give up his game and laugh. "But," he went on, smiling suggestively, "those look too damn good to resist and I don't know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself."

It was an innocent little statement but Stiles' brain had other plans, causing him to suddenly turn a violent shade of pink. Derek snorted and shook his head, chuckling. Luckily for Stiles, Laura didn't seem to have picked up on anything. Or if she did, she was doing a highly commendable job of not showing it on her face. A moan followed by a yawn, however, banished all other thoughts from their minds as all eyes turned to the patient.

"Stiles?" the Sheriff uttered in a hoarse voice, stirring awake. Stiles was immediately kneeling by his side, eyes glistening mistily. "I dreamed about your mother."

Stiles only sniffed and buried his face into his father's shoulder. "You know, for once...just once, I thought I had lost you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. The Sheriff raised a hand and gently patted his son's back.

* * *

Scott and his mother entered the room just as breakfast was wrapping up. "Hey, Mr. Stilinski," Scott grinned, before noticing the others already in the room and looking a little confused.

"You'd think this was a picnic spot," Melissa observed amusedly, drawing the curtains apart. "How're you feeling, Sheriff?" she continued, turning to face the patient with a warm smile.

"Much better, Mel," the Sheriff replied with a nod. "In fact, I think I could do with a few more days of this. This lot has been taking care of me extremely well." This evoked a round of laughter around the room.

"Hey, Laura, how come you're here?" Scott asked in the meantime, earning him a growl from Derek the overprotective brother.

"My brother and I brought breakfast," Laura explained with a smile, after shooting a quick stern look at her brother.

"Oh..." Scott trailed off, looking from Laura to Derek and then back to Laura, obviously making the connection between the two only now.

"Anyway," declared Melissa then, rising from where she had been engrossed in a conversation with the Sheriff, "I have to get to work now." A round of adieus later the door clicked shut behind her.

Excusing himself to go out for a breath of fresh air, Stiles grabbed Scott, who he knew had a million questions for him, and stepped out of the room for the first time in hours. In the course of a walk around the block, everything, barring the Hale related stuff, was deconstructed for Scott's benefit. It felt strangely liberating narrating the incident, like he himself were listening to someone else's account. From a different vantage point.

"And the guy died right there, just like that?" Scott asked, dumbstruck.

"Yep. It looked like he was having some kind of seizure or something. A few seconds later he just...stopped moving."

"And Allison's parents too?" Scott continued in his awestruck voice as they rounded the corridor and came back to the room again. Stiles nodded and opened the door.

Inside, Laura sat peeling apples in one corner while his father, obviously still in bed, was just ending the phone conversation he had been having with a sigh. Derek, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"He went to the washroom," Laura informed him with a wry smile, still occupied with the apples. Stiles simply cleared his throat, embarrassed that Laura had read his mind so easily.

"KCN," the Sheriff said all of a sudden, looking very grim. All eyes turned in his direction at once.

"I suspected so," said a voice suddenly, and like a well-practised enactment, all heads turned in one accord to face the new speaker. It was Derek.

"This is getting ugly," sighed the Sheriff, and the attention shifted back to him.

"It was planned," said Derek, taking centre-stage again. Apparently none of the others had anything of value to contribute to this conversation.

"Yes," the Sheriff concurred, and Derek was just opening his mouth to reply when Stiles decided he had had enough.

"What exactly are we discussing again?" he demanded and both speakers opened their mouths at the same time before looking at each other and closing them again. "Oh my gawwwd..."

"The suicide of course!" said Derek in an exasperated tone. Scott literally jumped at that.

"Wait, what? There's been a suicide?" asked Stiles, his mind swimming in circles.

Derek closed his eyes and swallowed, with an expression that somehow hinted that this _inquisition_ was wearing his patience thin. "The shooter," he explained, surprisingly calm. "Don't tell me you didn't see what was happening right in front of your eyes. Even if you didn't know what it was, you'd have thought something was fishy. People don't just drop dead like that." There was a short pause. "He had a potassium cyanide capsule in his mouth. That's how he commited suicide. It kills you within minutes."

An uneasy silence descended over the room at once. Laura's face was deadpan; Scott looked like the kid who had accidentally stumbled into the _yaoi_ section at the local AniManga store. As for Stiles...well, obviously he couldn't see his own expression, but he was certain that if he could, it'd be something even weirder that lay somewhere between the other two's.

"Oh," said Stiles at last simply, at which Derek made a face. "Don't blame me if Chemistry isn't my area of expertise," he snorted in response. "God knows, and I most definitely do, that man shouldn't even be allowed within ten feet of children. If it were up to me I'd tape his mouth, handcuff his hands to his feet, throw him into a box and fasten it with an iron chain, then throw the box into a steel vault, dig a hole to the centre of the earth, chuck the vault in and fill it up again with earth. And then I'd erect a thousand-ton monument over the area." Facing the spread of stunned faces before him, he added smugly: "And yes, I've mulled over the plan several times late at night when I can't sleep."

Scott and Laura, however, were the only ones who found Stiles' little rant remotely funny. The Sheriff's expression was far from amusement while Derek's simply was a lost cause.

"But why would he commit suicide?" said Stiles, trying to shift the spotlight from him back to the topic at hand. "And more importantly, why would anyone try to kill you, Dad?"

The Sheriff shifted uneasily at the second question. "I think it's time we have an open discussion about all the things we are keeping from each other," he sighed at last.

Stiles couldn't have agreed more. "But first, Dad, you have to let Isaac go, he's-"

"I know," the Sheriff replied wearily. "He had an alibi thankfully. But that was when I had become suspicious."

"Isaac was innocent?" Scott interrupted.

"Yes, and still is," Stiles answered for his dad, slightly irritated; then addressing his father: "You knew all along then?"

"No," the Sheriff sighed. "But it became apparent soon that all the evidence against Isaac had been planted. Someone or some people had either given false accounts or tampered with them later."

"It was a woman," Stiles stated then, and this time there was no eye-rolling from Scott. "I saw from my bedroom window."

"Great!" his father exclaimed. "Any particular reason why you decided to withhold this _crucial_ piece of evidence until now?"

"Well I tried, believe me," answered Stiles in his defence.

Stiles was surprised when his father did not pursue the subject any further. "I don't know what exactly is going on but something's not right," the Sheriff said instead.

"Good, we're on the same page then," declared Stiles. "This will make it so much easier to- "

"Stiles!" Derek was giving him the I-dare-you-to look. Which, if Stiles were to be honest, totally scared him. But he swallowed hard and took up the challenge.

"People's lives are at stake now, Derek!" he urged in an impassioned frenzy. "My dad barely survived! We can't keep this locked away in secrecy anymore. _Some_ people deserve to know."

Derek initially looked like he was going to protest but then slumped his shoulders and sighed. "You're right," he said, looking up. "Something's going on and we need to figure this out together."

The next fifteen minutes flew by as Stiles and Derek jointly narrated to an astounded audience everything that had happened, starting from Peter's death and ending with Stiles landing atop Derek right in the middle of the street. When the narrative finally wound up, the duo were greeted by a trio of stunned faces staring at them in varying degrees of disbelief.

"I really hope you didn't just make that up," Scott finally said, looking both scared and excited.

Stiles simply gave him an exasperated look. Derek, meanwhile, proved more resourceful as he retrieved the envelope from his pocket and handed it to the Sheriff, who accepted it silently and began studying it, turning it over in his hands. After a moment of tense silence as all eyes focussed on the Sheriff, he finally looked up and handed the envelope and the note back to Derek.

"I think we have somehow got ourselves into something deep," he sighed with a resigned look and Stiles let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding.

Leaning forward, Stiles took over with renewed determination. "I think," he began and hesitated for a split-second before continuing, "Peter's death and the attack last night are related. If it's the same people, we just need to find out the motive behind them. Common links. Then maybe we can trace it all back to them." As soon as the words had left his mouth, the air suddenly felt thick and heavy with tension, as though his words had somehow lodged themselves in the air around them and now remained suspended.

"Don't get too excited, young man," the Sheriff warned in a tone that instantly set its addressee on edge. "No one is doing any sleuthing, if that's what's on your mind. We don't know what we're dealing with."

"Yes, exactly!" Stiles replied hotly, his energy hardly dampened. "We don't know! And while we are here busy arguing about this, who's to say they're not already planning their next attack." He stopped briefly before continuing in a lower, dread-laced voice. "Or figuring out how to finish off what they failed on the first attempt." There was an audible gasp after the last sentence but Stiles couldn't tell who it was from.

"He's right." Stiles looked up in surprise as Derek defended him. Yes, _Derek Hale_, who continued in a grave tone. "We can't simply wait for them to strike again. We need to be ready."

A moment of hesitation passed before the Sheriff finally sighed and closed his eyes. "I think I might have a fair bit of information I may have been keeping from you lot," he said, and when he opened his eyes, Stiles noticed that all uncertainty had gone. "There's a story that has been passed down the generation in our family." Stiles stared, wide-eyed. "My father told it to me just before he passed away, and he made me swear an oath that I'd do the same to mine when the time came. I always thought it was a silly superstition and had no intention of ever carrying on the tradition.

"Turns out there might actually be some truth in it. The story goes that a long time ago, three families were once appointed by the _main_ family to protect a secret. Sworn to secrecy and allegiance, these three families were named - rather unimaginatively, if you ask me - The First, The Second and The Third Families. To further ensure the integrity of the secret, the identities of these three families were never revealed, and even each of the families themselves did not who the other two were.

"A crucial piece - or a key to the secret, was then entrusted to each of the three families to protect. No one even knew what they were protecting, except the main family. It was done so that no one would ever be able to uncover the secret without first acquiring all three pieces from the three families. Not even the main family.

"It is said that all records pertaining to the secret were then destroyed. All that was ever passed down the generation in the main family was the name of the First Family. To ever uncover the secret again, you'd have to trace the identity of the other two families from there.

"Atleast that's what I remember being told. Now, apart from the fact that it is just a _story_, perhaps it does hold some amount of truth behind it. Maybe someone decided to spice up the plot somewhere along the way, but _maybe_ there really is something waiting to be uncovered. Maybe _some_ people are already at it."

There was a short pause. "I really can't think of any other reason why anyone would want to kill me. I was told that the Stilinski family was the...Second Family."

The Sheriff ended with a sigh and no one said anything for a while before Derek finally spoke up. Gesturing toward Laura, he said, "We were told a similar story too. Our dad told us just before the fire. He said the Hale family was the First Family." After a hesitant pause, he continued, "And then our uncle told us the same a few days before he was murdered. He gave us a- "

"Key?" the Sheriff cut in and Derek looked at him astonished.

"How did you know?"

"Let's just say I've a similar story to tell," said the Sheriff.

"Boy, this sure is getting interesting now!" Stiles remarked, grinning from his father to Derek, neither of who seemed to share his enthusiasm.

"So whoever these people are, they're after these _keys_?" asked Laura, sounding intrigued.

"Appears so," replied Derek grimly. "What I don't get is why they killed my uncle, and why they tried to kill the Sheriff."

"I have a theory," Stiles piped up. "Remember how they need to first trace the identities of the three families before they can retrieve the keys. They must have somehow figured out that the Hale family was the First Family. But they needed to follow the link to the Second Family from there. Killing your uncle was the only way to get him to give up the trail. And now they intend to do the same to get to the Third Family."

"The break-in then, maybe they were searching for the note your uncle left you!" Scott exclaimed excitedly.

"True," Stiles concurred. "And somehow they managed to figure it out before us." Stiles shuddered as he thought how about how his dad had survived miraculously. "The shooter," he said thoughtfully, "he had looked pretty nervous. Whoever he was working for forced him to do it."

"Alright, you lot, calm down." It was the Sheriff. "We have no proof that the story is anything more than what it is: a _story_. Don't run around getting fancy ideas all of a sudden." Everyone opened their mouths to protest but he raised up a hand to mute them. "I could do with a nap now anyway." He yawned and Stiles could see that his father was really tired.

"Apples?" Laura offered, holding out a plate. Everyone grabbed a slice and filed out the room.

"Derek, we _have_ to do something," Stiles pressed urgently as soon as they were out of the room.

Derek nodded. "Let's get back to my house now."

When Stiles wavered undecidedly, Laura quickly understood and smiled. "I'll stay behind and look after your father," she offered. She had read his mind again. Stiles smiled gratefully and nodded at Derek.

Derek led the way in his Camaro as Stiles and Scott piled into the jeep and followed. It was nearly noon now.

"How come you're not hanging out with Allison today, being the weekend and all?" Stiles asked as he drove, genuinely curious.

"Girls-day-out or something," Scott replied ruefully. "They seemed pretty excited about it, she and Lydia."

"Oh," was all Stiles said, slightly irritated that Scott did not seem in the least _excited_ about spending time with him.

All his worries flew out the window, however, only to be replaced by an even greater one as they came to a stop outside their house.

"Derek!" he hissed, clambering out of the jeep. Derek had already noticed. It was the same bike from the other night, Stiles observed, stationed right in their driveway.

"What!?" Scott urged loudly and impatiently as they walked toward the front door apprehensively, and Stiles had to rein in an incredible urge to smack his best friend over the head.

"It's the same person from the break-in the other night," he muttered his reply through gritted teeth and swallowed a glob of fear as Derek slowly gripped the battered door-knob and pushed the door open.

"Upstairs," Stiles whispered as the trio walked into a ransacked living-room. He walked to a nearby cupboard and pulled out a baseball bat. Derek grabbed a chunk of wood from a dismantled chair lying nearby.

"Wait," Scott whispered and dashed into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a knife. Derek and Stiles stared at him in shock but no one said anything. The three ninja-ed their way up the stairs and soon stood outside the Sheriff's bedroom. Stiles didn't know about the other two but his heart most definitely was racing like a mad bull. It was Derek again that reached out and slowly opened the door.

A cold voice greeted them. "Hello, there. I'm kinda lost around here. Can you help me?"

"You're the same woman from the break-in the other night," Stiles observed breathlessly, squinting at the silhouette in front of the window across the room.

There was a laugh. "Oh my, you guys came armed?" she said mockingly, feigning fear.

"What do you want?" Derek growled, and somehow Stiles felt his fears lift a little at that.

"Me? Nothing really," came the amused reply. "But some people want something you have. And they will do _anything_" - Stiles jumped a little at the sudden menacing tone - "to get it."

"What do you mean we have something you want?" asked Stiles, gripping the bat tighter.

"Like I said, it's not me that want it," the voice answered nonchalantly.

"Did you kill my uncle?" Derek snarled. "What about the Sheriff?"

"You are asking that to the wrong person," came the calm reply. "I merely carry out my orders. However, it appears we may have _some_ common goals, atleast for now, so I think I'll help you out. A little."

"Help us?" Stiles blurted out, confused.

"Hm...let me put it differently. Maybe I'll give you a nudge in the right direction. Sound better?" There was a pause. "So, how about a little history first? Rich banker suddenly vanishes one night along with all his money. Exhaustive search parties discover nothing. A handful of people called the Main Family claim to know the truth but won't tell. They develop complicated codes to safeguard their secret. Soon, three families are selected to protect these codes and sworn to secrecy and loyalty.

"Years pass and codes remain unbroken. The secret becomes legend. Lines between truth and myth become obscure. Descendants of Main Family accidentally discovers a frightening truth. Now they will do anything to reclaim buried secret.

"Sound familiar? Here's where things get interesting. Apparently the old banker is still alive. Somewhere. Rotting probably, I don't know. But yes, pretty much alive."

"That's ridiculous!" Stiles declared.

"Take it any way you want. I kinda doubt its legitemacy myself. But I'll give you this." A small tattered leather-bound book flew across the room and landed at Stiles' feet. "It's in classical Latin so I'll say good luck with it. But hey, who knows, you lot might just succeed where so many others have failed."

Before anyone could make a move or say a word, the woman leaped out the open window behind her. The trio rushed over just in time to see the bike already speeding away down the street.

"What the hell was that?" Scott asked dumbfounded as they slowly exited _through the front-door_, but hardly waited for a reply as he fished out his phone out of his jeans and answered a call.

"Hey...Allison!"  
"What? No...I'm at Stiles'."  
"Oh, okay...sure."  
"I love you."

"Allison's coming to pick me up," Scott grinned, turning around.

"Like _now_?" Stiles asked, although he already knew the answer. "Uh..._this_?" he continued, waving the book in the air. "Or that my house has literally just been ransacked?"

"Dude, it's Allison!" Scott reasoned. "Oh, and by the way, Lydia and Jackson are coming too. They're in Jackson's car so..."

"I am so not up for a house-warming party right now," Stiles said, marching with determination toward Derek's front door. "Everyone, this way!"

The party arrived ten minutes later. Giggling and laughing, the three newcomers exited the car to meet their polar opposites. Well, with the sole exception of Scott, who looked like the human incarnation of the Chesire Cat.

"What's that?" Lydia asked, pointing at the book in Stiles' hands as Allison and Scott said their _hello_'s nearby.

"We probably interrupted their _book club_ meeting," Jackson snorted.

"It's nothing," Stiles said. "Besides, it's in classical Latin so it's not like you'd be interested."

"I can read classical Latin," Lydia replied casually.

"I'm not even gonna ask how," Stiles laughed, awed and excited. This was good news. No, it was _excellent_ news. "Awesome, let's go inside!" he declared and strided toward Derek's.

Jackson made a face and looked like he was going to say something but Lydia beat him to it. "It's not like we're in a hurry or anything." Jackson smiled labouriously. "And isn't your house _that_ way?" she asked Stiles, pointing in the opposite direction of where they were currently headed.

"We were just hanging out at Derek's," Stiles replied nervously. Lydia blinked in confusion.

"Who's Derek?"

After the awkward introductions were done, everyone marched through Derek's front-door. Lydia literally snatched the book from Stiles's hands and bored into it. The others lounged in front of the TV, giggling and making out. Uh...okay, that was Allison and Scott. Jackson, Stiles and Derek simply sat in silence, trying to avert their eyes.

Lydia was done in an hour. "So?" Stiles asked expectantly.

"It was nice. It's a children's story about an imaginary underwater mermaid city called Numermeitis. A mermaid and a mer...man? falls in love and- "

"Oh please!" Jackson interrupted her, looking utterly disgusted.

"A mermaid story, really?" Stiles cried out. "Nothing even remotely mysterious, spooky, out-of-place?"

"There was one thing," Lydia replied. "There was Braille lettering on the last page."

"_What?!_ What did it say?"

"Fetch me a pen and paper."

When Lydia had finished deciphering, she held out the paper to Stiles.

_Where my journey ends, there yours shall begin.  
-Emily Rose Hale_

"I know that name," Derek observed. "It's my great-grandmother. My dad used to mention her often."

Stiles remained silent in deep thought for a few seconds before suddenly addressing Derek. "Where is she buried, Derek?"

"I don't know," replied Derek, looking confused.

"Did she live in Beacon Hills?"

"Yes, our family has lived here for generations."

"We need to go to the cemetary now!" Stiles declared in a frenzy while the others stared at him perplexed. Some form of realisation was growing on Lydia's face, however, and she studied Stiles curiously.

"Has this anything to do with the anagram you had me decipher the other night?" she asked.

Stiles swallowed the denial that nearly came out. "Yes," he admitted instead.

Lydia remained deadpan for a few excruciating seconds before breaking into a smile. "I am so up for some _real_ adventure," she declared, shocking everyone.

"What has got into you people?" Jackson whined as the group walked outside, led by Derek, Stiles and Lydia.

"Why are we going to the cemetary again?" asked Allison, worried.

"We'll know when we get there," Stiles replied, heading for his jeep.

Jackson, Lydia, Scott and Allison huddled into the Porsche while Derek and Stiles buckled into their respective rides. It was a five-minute drive and soon they were standing amidst a sea of graves.

"Hey, isn't that Isaac?" Allison whispered as they were walking among the headstones.

The others followed her gaze and noticed a lanky fellow in the distance. It was Isaac Lahey, their classmate who had been falsely charged with breaking and entering.

"Should we go talk to him or something?" Scott asked.

"No way, dude," Jackson replied and they continued on with their search.

"Remember, we're looking for Emily Rose Hale," Stiles reminded the others as he bent down to take a closer look at a headstone and observed with dismay that it was "George Sutton".

After an hour had passed they had not found the mysterious _Emily Rose Hale_ yet. Stiles led out a cry of frustration and crumbled to the grass.

"Looking for anyone in particular?" It was Isaac standing near them, smiling.

When no one replied in a long time, Stiles stood up and cleared his throat. "Yes, we're looking for Derek's great-grandmother."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"These graves are recent ones," Isaac informed them and a collective sigh arose from the group. "Follow me."

The group of six followed Isaac toward a secluded, creepier part of the cemetary.

"Thank you," Stiles smiled snd Isaac nodded.

"I can help you search," Isaac offered.

Stiles hesitated for a second before giving him the name. The group combed the area in silence, but an hour later they still hadn't found it.

"What if her headstone isn't marked?" Jackson asked, slumping on the grass. "Have you guys considered that possibility?"

"Yes," Lydia replied with confidence. "Which is why now we're going to look for unmarked ones."

Groans and complaints later, the group were at it again. The search was looking futile again, until half-an-hour later Lydia's excited shouts made everyone converge around her. She was standing beaming in front of an old stone cross. On the marble slab below there was no name, just a short phrase.

**LIE, HEAL MY SORE.**

"How do you know this is it?" Derek asked in confusion, the question that was on everyone's minds.

"This is a clever one," Lydia chirped. "Can't you see? It's an anagram again. Emily. Rose. Hale."

Stiles observed in astonishment.

**L-I-E-H-E-A-L-M-Y-S-O-R-E...E-M-I-L-Y-R-O-S-E-H-A-L-E**

"This is creepy..." Allison observed.

"Yes, and it is also exciting," Stiles replied. Now there had to be something here. A clue.

"I've seen this before," Derek said, stepping closer to brush the cross with his fingertips.

The rest of the group peered closer at the symbol. It was a set of three conjoined spirals.

"It's a triskelion," Lydia remarked, taking a closer look.

"I know where we have to go next," Derek said, turning around suddenly. "Our old house. I know I saw it somewhere there when I was younger."

A strong breeze swept across the landscape then, showering the group with leaves, as a woman watched from a distance through a pair of binoculars and smiled, pleased.

"It worked. They have found it. I'll keep my distance as you instructed," she spoke into her phone and continued her silent vigil.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry I had to leave you guys in the middle of all that, but the events that follow simply belong to another chapter, so tune in soon to find out how things progress from here.**

**Also, I wasn't sure at first, but now I am certain that I will soon be introducing some supernatural elements (not of the werewolf variety). The Argents will play a more prominent role. Erica, Boyd and Danny will have their own place too. And don't you go wondering if I've forgotten about Ms. Morell and Deaton, because I've not. Gerald may make an appearance. OC characters, definite yes.**

**Our young friends are only going to find themselves in more trouble in Chapter Five so wait for it. Till then, take care! :)**


	5. The Gatekeeper

**A/N: Hey, guys! Again, thanks to everyone who has been supporting this fic so far. First, this chapter does not continue in the same timeline where Chapter Four ended. The events of this chapter happen the night Stiles' dad is shot. I think it is necessary to write this chapter now because it advances the plot greatly and also adds some new perspective to the events of that night. I hope you guys like it. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE : THE GATEKEEPER**

It was already past midnight as Chris and Victoria Argent anxiously paced their living room floor. The only light illuminating the room was the pale orange glow from the fire blazing at the fireplace. Chris was standing right in front of it, a black, leather-bound book clutched in his left hand while his right hand ran through his hair nervously. Victoria stood across the room, leaning against the wall and looking extremely worried.

"How do you know this will work?" she asked pointedly. "And more importantly, are you sure we should even be doing this?"

"I don't know," her husband replied, looking even more distraught than before. He raised the book with both his hands and looked at it thoughtfully as though it held the answers he himself did not possess. The book looked like it had been through centuries of usage, yet still remarkably well-preserved. Embossed in gold lettering across the front cover were the words: _Libro Umbras_.

"We don't have a choice," he said at last with a sigh. "We are _trackers_. It is our duty."

"But we have never done this before," Victoria pressed, leaning off the wall and walking toward her husband. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder and looked into his eyes, almost pleading. "Maybe we should...maybe we should wait a little longer. See how things progress. It could turn out to be nothing at all."

"I don't want to do this either," Chris replied, brushing her cheek tenderly. "But _you_ saw it too just a few hours earlier. And so did I. We _cannot_ waste anymore time."

Victoria walked back to the couch in silence and sat down, but the look on her face told Chris that she knew it was true. She reached out to the small table in front of her and picked up an ornate metal bowl, placing it on her lap. There was a small knife inside and she took it in her hand. Chris made a motion of stepping forward but checked himself and instead crossed his arms across his chest, looking on fearfully.

"Are you sure this is part of the _process_?" Victoria asked resolutely, brandishing the knife in the air.

"Yes, I've read it over several times," Chris answered with a quiet sigh.

Victoria nodded and held out her left hand over the bowl. As Chris watched dreadfully, she then proceeded to drag the blade across her open palm, slicing it open and allowing the blood to drain into the container below. As the red liquid began to trickle to a stop, she withdrew her hand and set the bowl down on the table. Chris walked over and sat down beside her, taking the knife from her hand. Without a word he then proceeded to do the same. When the bowl was set down a second time, all uncertainty had vanished from their faces. It was time.

"The only thing I know is that my father did this once before," Chris said, rising to his feet. "He tried to tell me about it but I didn't care then. The Gatekeeper is known to have been summoned only twice in history before." He gazed up at the ceiling and sighed. "Tonight we raise that number to three."

Victoria did not look comforted by the idea. "Not that I consider it to be a privilege, but this creature that accompanies the...Gatekeeper- "

"_Monstrous three-headed dog with a mane of snakes and a serpent for a tail_, says the book," Chris said, taking the bowl of blood and walking toward the fireplace.

"Exactly," replied Victoria, following her husband. "No wonder people don't summon the Gatekeeper as often."

"Don't worry," Chris replied, dipping his right index finger into the bowl. "We've got enough mountain ash."

He lifted a blood-dripping finger and began to draw on the mantlepiece. Victoria watched in silence as a set of three conjoined spirals slowly appeared.

"The triskelion," Chris remarked when he was done. "Corresponding to each of the three heads of the beast, and representing the past, the present and the future as well as the three stages of a man's life - youth, middle-age and old age. With this link, the creature should instantly be drawn to the fresh blood."

"Hardly an entertaining thought," Victoria said, taking the bowl from Chris and placing it back on the table.

"True," Chris concurred, wiping his hands on a cloth. "This ritual does not summon the Gatekeeper himself. We are luring his _pet_."

Victoria walked up to the fireplace with a small but heavy-looking sack and set it down. "_Cerberus_," she said in a fearful whisper.

Chris opened the sack and began to pour the black powdery substance in a wide semi-circle around the fireplace. When he was done, he looked up and turned to his wife. Victoria took a deep breath and nodded. They took a few steps back from the line of mountain ash and locked hands. There was no turning back now.

After a moment's pause, they uttered together: "_Qua invocaverimus te, bestiam magnam infernae._"

There was absolute silence in the room after that. The seconds dragged on painfully until at last the stillness of the air was suddenly broken by a low growl. Chris and Victoria clung to each other and watched in horror as the fire suddenly leaped up and engulfed the entirety of the fireplace, turning a light-blue in colour. There was a disturbance behind the flames and then an enormous black paw stepped out into the floor, followed by an even more colossal head, and then two more. Saliva dripped like humungous masses of mucous from each of the three fearsome mouths as the rest of the creature's body emerged from the flames. A giant, tangly mass of snakes waved in the air like tentacles from the creature's neck and a gigantic serpent whipped behind the beast, hissing terrifyingly.

The creature took a step forward and stopped just inside the boundary of mountain ash, instantly becoming agitated as the coil of snakes around its neck suddenly bared their fangs and hissed angrily, lashing out in the air.

"Easy now, boy," a voice said all of a sudden and a figure emerged from the flames as the giant beast calmed down and stretched out on the floor. The woman smiled, stepped across the mountain ash boundary, and walked toward the Argents, stopping a few feet in front of them.

"This is almost nostalgic," she said, almost smiling yet not quite. "I get to meet the son too."

Chris licked his lips nervously. "You look..."

"Human?" the woman offered, looking slightly amused. "Yes, this works around here. Don't be mistaken though. My real form can be...less _appealing_." She took a step forward and sat down on the couch. "However, I absolutely detest making small talk. Let's get down to it. Sit down, please." There was a smile this time.

Chris and Victoria sat down on the opposite couch. The woman was hardly the image of the Gatekeeper either of them had in mind but it made things more...comfortable.

"A strange thing happened yesterday," Chris began. "I know trackers are simply supposed to monitor traffic and report. But yesterday we saw something different. It wasn't from this world and yet unlike anything that has ever slipped through the gate."

"If you're referring to the Hale and Stilinski boys, let me assure you I'm aware," the woman replied, still smiling.

"But this means that..." Victoria's voice trailed off as comprehension dawned on her face.

"You know..." the woman said, looking a little surprised and impressed. "Yes, the Arcadian Council has _finally_ decided to do something."

"Aren't you going to do anything?" Chris asked, looking alarmed. "This could lead to- "

"I _am_ aware of the devastation this could _possibly_ lead to," the woman cut him off. "But it's out of my hands. I have been keeping a very close eye on the two though. However, at this stage things have progressed very far indeed. Our enemies are rallying and despite our best efforts, those two might be our only hope soon."

"But they're just kids," Victoria said, concern showing clearly. "Surely we can't leave the fate of the _world_ in the hands of those two!"

"And we're not," the woman answered. "In the coming days, they'll need us - _all_ of us - as much as we'll need them."

"This is going to be huge, isn't it?" Chris asked. "Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"Yes," the woman sighed. "This is as much as the Arcadian Council has ever intervened. And now that they have _finally_ done something, I have a feeling they're going to simply sit back and enjoy the show. It _will_ come down to us to guide those two. Now they're not even aware of what they are, what they can do. I can see a difficult path ahead. You two, especially, may soon have to make some difficult choices."

Chris and Victoria listened with trepidation. "And your daughters, will have important roles to play in this coming war. You should look past your roles as parents. Your own decisions may decide the ultimate outcome."

"Allison?" Victoria's voice came out as a barely audible whisper.

"Yes. And Kate too. Allison especially looks promising as a hunter. A hunter from a family of trackers is rare but not unheard of. You should learn to look at her as one. And prepare her for the role she must ultimately play."

Chris looked almost heartbroken. "But she's only..."

"These kids are more capable than we sometimes give them credit for. But now, more than ever, we must learn to trust them. I'm sure they'll surprise us soon. While we watch from the sidelines, they'll fight our battles and win our wars. I feel a new era coming soon. We must prepare ourselves and these young people."

"How do you know all these?" Victoria asked, eyes slightly moist.

"I don't," the woman replied with a warm smile. "Atleast not for certain. But I can believe. And you should too. At any rate, there's not much we _old_ folks can do about it. All we can do is put our trust in them."

"Then we do nothing?" Chris asked.

"Of course not," the woman replied. "We keep doing what we have always done. We watch. We watch as history happens. And we pray we have the strength to make the right choice when the time comes. We take care of these young people. We protect them fiercely with everything we've got. We make sure they are ready."

"Allison..." Victoria had promised herself a long time ago she'd be stronger, that she'd never cry. No matter what. And she'd stayed true to her word. But right now, she couldn't help that one solitary tear from making its way down her face. Chris wiped it away with his thumb and held her close.

"And now I must get going," the woman said, standing up. "Cerb here doesn't like being away from home too long."

"Thank you," Chris said, smiling despite the evident distress on his face.

"What for?" asked the woman, looking curious and amused.

"For everything you said tonight," Chris replied. "I think...we'll be ready."

"Good," the _Gatekeeper_ said, shaking her head with a smile. "Sometimes I envy you humans. There's just something about your kind. I trust you'll do the right thing. The next time we meet might be on the battlefield. Goodbye."

The woman and the beast vanished into a thick black fog that hovered in the air for only a fraction of a second before dissipating. The Argents watched from across the room as the fire finally returned to its normal state in the fireplace. There was no sign that anything had happened here at all tonight except a semi-circular trail of mountain ash and a giant puddle of drool inside it.

"Mom? Dad?" It was Allison stumbling sleepily into the room in a pair of pajamas. "I thought I heard something. What are you still doing up?"

Victoria pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her head. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Go back to bed. We'll be right up."

Allison blinked in confusion but quietly walked back to her room. Her parents only looked at each other in concern and proceeded to clean up the mess.

* * *

In a hospital room, a young boy sits nodding sleepily beside his sedated father. After a few minutes his head gently lands on the bed; he is fast asleep. There are tear-tracks running all the way down his cheeks but presently a small smile plays on his lips. Overnight his whole world had almost crumbled.

But for now he dreams of happier times. Because he needs to believe that he'll be okay. That no matter how things have turned out, today is worth living and tomorrow is worth waiting for. He needs to show her that even after all these years, he has kept his promise. That it's not perfect, but they are learning to discover happiness and family all over again.

There are many things he wishes he could tell her tonight, but there is one he is most excited about. He doesn't know how to introduce him. A new _friend_ he could say just to keep it simple, but that doesn't quite cut it, does it? It's strange he can't find the words to describe it. Only one thing he is certain of: he's happy in a way he hasn't been in a long time.

Does that help? He wonders if it's a good idea doing this whole introduction thing now. Would they get along fine? He didn't think of that.

* * *

He has been tossing and turning the whole night. His mind keeps drifting back to the hospital. This house, this bed - feels strange, cold. It's a new house, he knows, and they're not moving away anytime soon - he owes Laura that much atleast. Still, he doesn't understand why he would be so worried now about someone he has only just met.

He has lost so much. All his life he has been running - from people, from the past. Nothing good ever happens to him. It's like death and destruction constantly hang over him, ready to swoop down on anyone who comes into contact with him.

People in his life either die or run away - either way he always ends up alone. Sometimes he talks to himself, sometimes Laura manages to make him laugh; but most of the time it's just misery. And nobody in the whole wide world cares.

He doesn't need a hand to hold or someone to share his bed with. Or his life with. He isn't delusional. He just wishes someone would actually _care_. That's enough for him.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that gave you guys something to think about. I used Google Translator for all those Latin phrases so please don't come at me with pitchforks in case I messed it up! :P**

**Also, if you have noticed, I changed the canon relationships slightly to make Kate Chris' daughter instead of his sister. I especially liked writing that Sterek thing at the end because there is just so much to resolve before they can get together. I hope you guys enjoyed getting a peek inside each of their heads.**

**So that's it until Chapter Six. Do you guys have any ideas as to who the Gatekeeper might be? Or the woman on the bike? Till the next chappie, take care! :)**


	6. Memories And Trip-Wires

**CHAPTER SIX : MEMORIES AND TRIP WIRES**

The most exciting part of any adventure is always the beginning. When the first tantalising glimpse of a mystery waiting to be solved is just visible beneath the shifting surface of a murky expanse of the unfamiliar. Every single moment of your life - big or small - till now, it seems, has only been leading up to this one important moment. _The tipping point._ A colossal, restless convergence of ideas, thoughts, memories and emotions churning ceaselessly in a gaping, bottomless chasm, that all of a sudden appears to hold all the answers you have been seeking all along. Promises, but still more important, hope. And, teethering anxiously right at the edge of this momentous discovery, you can't help but feel that life, as you know it, will soon be altered forever.

Somehow Derek had never come to terms with the fact that the old Hale house where he had spent the entirety of his childhood, was now merely a charred, dilapidated shell of its former state. In his mind he could still trace the shiny, polished, brass door-knob on the heavy mahogany front-door; the grand staircase right across the hall leading up to meet the giant bay windows overlooking his mother's well-tended vegetable garden (picketed and secured) just before the edge of the woods that seemed to stretch on endlessly from there; the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen that invaded every single room in the house, which soon drew every member of the family to the dining-room, sounding off their appreciations and laughing together as each of them narrated their grievances of the day.

When the fire happened, Derek hadn't even cried. Not a single tear had been shed. He had rolled up the entire memory, the whole thing, and tossed it into some dark recess of his mind. And there it lay shrouded in darkness and oblivion, its presence never acknowledged. _Forgotten._ He had told himself that he was doing it for Laura's sake, _because he needed to be strong for her_. It was true, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He was scared. He knew that if he even allowed his mind to embrace the painful reality he would instantly crumble. So he rejected reality and continued to live in the euphoria of past memories, where they were still happy and together.

Six years have passed, but for Derek it might just as well have been sixty. Alone in his car now, he felt assured of privacy in his thoughts, because he felt that if anyone should see him now they could read it all on his face.

A light drizzle had begun since they left the cemetary. He looked out at his side-view mirror and saw the others close behind - Stiles in his jeep with Isaac (who had literally begged he tag along), and the rest in Jackson's Porsche. He wondered how so many people had ever got involved in this already. He wondered if it was Stiles that held this horribly done patchwork quilt of a dysfunctional group together.

His train of thought, right then, was derailed by the buzz of his mobile phone on the dashboard. Reaching for it he saw that it was Stiles. The brat had insisted on attaching a photo to his contact and now he had to contend with his goofy, lopsided grin everytime he called. He had pretended to be highly irritated with the whole fiasco.

"What is it?!"

"Uh...right...how much further is it?" Stiles knew the exact location of the destination and the area surrounding it. In fact it was _or had been_ one of Scott's and his favourite hangouts.

"If that's the only thing you have to say, I'm hanging up. Right now."

"Wha...hold on, dude! Seriously, just checkin' to see if we're still...you know, _not_ lost- "

"You know you are really lucky you're not within reach of my fist right now."

"Jeez, fine...no need to get all riled up-"

"Two minutes."

Derek hung up and smiled devilishly. He was guilty of actually enjoying his daunts. He didn't, however, get a chance to follow through on the direction his thoughts were presently threatening to take, as the crumbling remains of his old house suddenly loomed into view around the bend. It looked almost otherworldly, awkward, out-of-place, standing there all alone in a tiny clearing in the woods, surrounded by an infinite stretch of the darkening forest on all sides.

Something stirred within him, but whatever it was - fear, anxiety, hopelessness, desperation, panic - he quickly squashed it and calmly stepped out of the car. This was no time to be unearthing old memories, buried for so long; or disturbing childhood ghosts, rousing them from their long slumber. He willed his thundering heart to calm down as the others slowly crowded around him.

"_This_ is your house?" Jackson asked in an almost accusatory tone. Derek shot him a threatening glare.

"_Was_," he corrected him, taking a step forward toward the house, when Allison's hand shot out and pulled him back by the collar of his jacket. "_What?!_" he hissed, turning around sharply.

Allison looked at a complete loss, as though she herself had no explanation for her own actions. "Something's wrong," she said at last, hardly believing her own ears. "Something on the ground..."

Stiles got down on his knees and skimmed the leafy forest floor with his fingers, appearing to hold something invisible between his thumb and index finger. The others joined him to take a closer look.

"I think it's a trip wire," he said incredulously, turning to look at Derek as though expecting an explanation. " Why would anyone set up a trap here?"

"Hunters, maybe?" Isaac offered, but Derek shook his head.

"This is private property," he said, drawing out the words slowly, and Stiles thought he looked somewhat shaken.

He turned to look at Lydia, knowing that she'd already be putting things together by now, and he was right.

"Stiles," she said, in a fear-tinged half-whisper that immediately sent goosebumps all over his body, "what happened to your house? Was there another break-in?"

Everyone else seemed to stiffen up and before very long, he was met with several different pairs of eyes in varying stages of confusion.

"_What?!_" exclaimed Allison.

"And where's your father?" Lydia went on, her frown deepening.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles replied desperately, even as Derek and Scott purposely averted their eyes.

"_Stiles!_" Lydia's tone wasn't menacing but it commanded attention. " Earlier, I- I noticed your front-door open and the broken lock on it. Also, the set of tyre-tracks on the grass was definitely a bike. Was it the same person from the other night?"

Stiles swallowed and nodded mutely as Lydia continued her grilling inquisition.

"This was never an innocent little game, was it?" she said, gesturing all around her. "And I know for a fact that if there had indeed been a break-in, the first thing you'd do is call your dad." There was a momentary pause and Stiles swallowed the growing lump in his throat, an embarrassing _gulp_ sound clearly audible in the absolute stillness of the moment. "Obviously you haven't," Lydia continued, looking even more determined. "So what happened to him?"

The reality seemed even more jarringly painful as it was presented so bluntly. The truth was that, despite his best efforts, when he really stopped and thought about it, it hurt. _A lot._ But he had been somehow sedating himself from the pain and the fear, _the misery of it all_, by plunging head first into the game. If he kept himself busy enough, he did not have to dwell on the reality, the fact that he had just nearly lost his father. It confounded him, the antithesis, had his father not survived. It muddled his brain and left him numb with primal dread and hopelessness.

"He was shot," he found himself saying in reply to Lydia's question. "We managed to keep it out of the papers. The news would have spread eventually."

"Why didn't you tell us, Stiles?" Allison said, looking hurt and _almost_- nope, definitely guilt-tripping Stiles; then noticing Scott's face: "_You_ knew about this?"

"He's my best friend," Scott reciprocated, with a look that said the stated fact sufficed for any explanation expected or needed. Stiles felt a small jolt of a certain unexplainable something within him and he could have hugged Scott right there had it been under some other less tense circumstances.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, observing the growing look of comprehension settle on Lydia's face. He caught Derek's gaze for a few fleeting seconds before the other looked away, quickly masking the slighest look of concern with a steely, impenetrable one.

"Can we do this later?" said Jackson, looking highly irritable, then turned and marched forward, carefully stepping over the trip-wire with a smirk before everone's horrified warnings. "Oh puh-lease-"

Before he could finish his douge comeback, however, Jackson was being hauled into the air by his left ankle. A second trip-wire. There was no time at all. Not even for surprised gasps or horrified shrieks or lame overconfident smirks.

_None at all._

Dangling upside down, Jackson spit out a spurt of _red_ as a rapid flight of arrows came flying toward him and lodged themselves in his back, a solitary shaft passing through his throat.

There was no time at all.

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**A/N: Please forgive me if that was the cruellest cliffhanger ever. Hopefully I can come out with the next chapter soon enough. I can't thank you guys enough for taking the time to read my fic. It means a lot to me. Till chapter 7, take care.**


	7. Grey, Orange, Red

**A/N: I had fun writing this chapter. Typing on a cramped phone keyboard is a real pain but I think I'll manage. Thank you so much for reading this little fic of mine and continuing to support me.**

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**CHAPTER SEVEN : GREY, ORANGE, RED**

_Why was he lying on the ground?_ His heart was pounding inside his rib-cage like a raging stampede of wild African elephants. His eyes were watery; his vision blurry. His entire body prickled like a thousand needles were stuck to him, and there was the dull throb of a passing headache currently _fogging up_ his brains. He tried to move (_try to wiggle your fingers and toes first_, he had been told on more than one occassion) but presently, this exercise proved to be a feat far beyond the capacity of his limp, _un_cooperating body - lethargic and seemingly drained of all energy.

_Was he dead?_ Ohmygod. Oh my god. Oh. My. God. This was it, wasn't it?

"_Stiles!_" The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere really far away, like the echo of an echo, reaching his ears in soft, lazy waves. Somehow he knew it was Derek. He struggled and willed himself to answer, but his tongue flopped around in his mouth like a piece of useless appendage, refusing to produce any meaningful sound.

Oh. My. God. _He knew it_; it was finally happening. Next to waking up buried in a coffin, this had always been his single greatest fear all his short, miserable life - trapped inside a paralysed body. The only comfort all this while had been that it was probably a highly unlikely scenario. (Hey, how many people have you ever heard about waking up stuck in limbo? - okay, not a very reassuring thought, but still...) He should have known his luck would eventually run out, if his life so far had been any indication.

He sat up with a jolt, spluttering incoherently, when a sudden splash of cold water hit his face. His head swam dizzily as he surveyed the spread of stunned faces all around him.

"Are you okay?" It was Derek, laying an uncertain hand on his drooping shoulder and looking quite shaken.

"What happened?" he croaked, rubbing away the bleariness from his eyes.

"Dude, you just collapsed!" Scott informed him, blinking furiously.

"Did I?" he asked in confusion, trying to stand up but landing back down on his butt. "_Fuck_!"

Derek, Scott and Isaac immediately came to his rescue, helping him up. The ground still seemed to be swaying beneath his feet but he managed to stay upright.

"I'm sorry," said Lydia. "Maybe I shouldn't have said some of the stuff I said earlier."

"What...?" It took a moment for his brain to realise what she was talking about. "No, it's not that- "

"Can we do this later?" Jackson cut him off, sparing him an irritated scowl, before turning around and marching toward the ruins of the old Hale house.

Stiles could only look on in horror. _This could not actually be happening._ And yet, it was. Exactly as he remembered it.

"Jackson!"

"Jackson, the trip-wire!"

"Dude, watch out!"

Stiles was already tripping forward on a pair of dangerously unsteady feet. He didn't understand what the hell was happening, but what he did know was what would happen if he did not act. _Now._

Jackson turned around to flash a cocky smirk and deftly stepped over the invisible wire in his path.

"Oh puh- "

Stiles reached out a frantic hand and grabbed Jackson by the collar of his jacket, dragging the both of them to the ground. Which he instantly regretted doing when the giant bulk of muscles that was Jackson's body landed on top of him, crushing him and totally knocking the wind out of him. _Oh my god._ Did he just hear his ribs cracking?! Thankfully, it turned out to have only been his imagination.

"Dude, _what the hell_!" Jackson literally whined his screaming protest into his ears, scrambling to get up in a hurry and stumbling several times in the process. He looked miserable, impulsively straightening his jacket and dusting his jeans. Seriously, the guy looked more startled than angry, like he had just run out of his usual supply of automated douchy responses and now had no idea how to react.

Stiles huffed and rose to his feet, trying his best to ignore the assortment of bizarre expressions that were all currently directed at him. Lydia, especially, had a genuinely pitying, guilt-ridden look on her face, as though she feared she had somehow _pushed him off the edge_. It was disconcertingly maddening, so he carefully averted their collective stares. Nope, he did not care if they all thought he was raving mad. For which assumption, he had to grudgingly concede, he could hardly hold them accountable as he had only done so much recently to have atleast planted the littlest of the _metaphorical_ seed of doubt in their minds regarding the soundness of his mental stability.

_Actions_, everyone knew, _speak louder than words_. Well, in most cases, to be fair. Because if ever there was to be an exception to the principle, it was Finstock, who in Stiles' opinion was the absolute epitome of every single anomaly in the universe where words did, in fact, achieve a level of profundity far beyond anything the collective achievements of _actions_ could ever hope to accomplish.

So, anyway, he picked up a length of rotting branch lying nearby and threw it on the ground right around where Jackson had just nearly set foot on. Instantly a flurry of leaves rose from the ground as a length of carefully concealed rope whipped into the air, followed immediately by the whizzing of a dozen or so arrows flying over their heads.

"_Oh_mygod!" Jackson staggered back, nearly tripping on his own feet. There were audible gasps from the rest of the group as the actual reality that it could have been Jackson dangling there in front of them, _dead_, dawned on them. Lydia took a few trembling steps forward and rushed ahead the rest of the way to hug Jackson, whose arms hung limp from his shoulders, mouth agap.

Lydia was, Stiles was painfully made aware, sniffing into Jackson's jacket. He smiled a sad smile and turned around to walk back to his jeep, only letting out a long-contained sigh as he leaned in through the driver's-side window. Scott patted him lightly on the shoulder with a nod as he walked past him. Allison gave him a small smile. Isaac's large puppy-dog eyes told him a million things, the most obvious being a deep sense of awe. Only Derek's he couldn't read. He had his arms crossed across his chest, mouth clenched shut, eyebrows drawn together, eyes intent - looking directly into his own. _Into his soul_, he thought. Seriously this guy was all kinds of weird. One minute he thought they were getting along, and the next he barely knew him.

Right, and now he was walking toward him. Yep, Derek was coming. _Coming_ as in moving in his direction, and not any of the other connotations of questionable nature associated with it, not that he had immediately conjured up some weirdly erotic image in his head. Because obviously he had not. It wasn't even his fault-

"Water?"

"What?"

Derek raised the half-empty (wait, _half-full_? Oh god, Ms. Morell would totally be bowing her head in shame right now!) bottle of water, _dangling it enticingly_ (Oh. My. God.) in front of his face.

"Oh! That- right- thanks- " He took the bottle from Derek's hands and gulped down the cool liquid, quenching a thirst he didn't even know he had.

"How did you know?"

"_What_?"

Derek spared him a seriously judgemental look before crossing his arms across his chest, _again_, and looking him in the eye. Really, was that all he got? And boy... was it working already! He tried to dismiss the uneasiness in his gut to the gravity of the whole drama that had gone down (or rather, that had nearly gone down) but his brain told him otherwise.

"I don't know," he finally said, in a voice so small he barely heard it himself. The look on Derek's face, however, told him he had heard it after all. He didn't say anything in reply though, only giving him a curious look and taking the bottle from his hands and screwing the cap back on before walking away.

The sky broke just then, as luck would have it. _Impeccable timing_, as always. The light drizzle all of a sudden gave way to a drenching torrential flood. Everyone dashed for the house, not caring anymore - to a horrified Stiles - for any other deadly contraptions that might have been out there waiting to be stepped on. Fortunately there were none or if there were, atleast no one stepped on any of them, so his haunting fear of them all ending up being dined upon by a deformed family of cannibal hillbillies could be set aside for now. Seriously though, people should give more thought to the real dangers of running around unarmed in the woods. Even if you were armed, these people could take you down with a poison dart from several miles away. Didn't anyone pay attention to the countless movies showing just that?

The interior of the house looked way worse than it did from the outside. The entire structure creaked dangerously against the rain and the front-door refused to stay shut, flapping in the wind like a flimsy piece of paper on its rusty hinges. Isaac managed to prop it shut with an old armchair lying around.

A thick layer of long-undisturbed dust covered every inch of the place like a blanket, muffling their steps and lending the entire place a uniform dull-grey hue. Cobwebs spanned across doorways.

It was quite dark inside. Frequent flashes of lightning fleetingly revealed frames from a moment frozen in time. Stiles felt like they were intruding on something sacred. He turned to look at Derek just as a burst of lightning lit up the place. There was no emotion at all. Just a blank, vacant expression. Stiles didn't understand, but he didn't need to. Because just at that very moment Derek turned to look at him and for the briefest fleeting second he thought he saw everything. A man who had lost everything, whose world had crumbled away.

_It was in his eyes, wasn't it?_ Or was it his mouth?

But then the darkness swallowed everything. It was gone. The moment was over.

He sighed quietly and pulled out his mobile phone. Turning on the camera flash, the place was instantly lit up. A grand staircase lay right in front of them across the hall from the front-door, leading up to a row of huge bay windows. There was a fireplace to the left, now covered by spider web, surrounded by several burnt chairs. A dusty, emerald-green but presently slightly greyish, half-charred couch lay nearby. The walls were inky black. A steady stream of raindrops fell in a small puddle near a similarly charred window missing several of its panes.

Scott grinned at him. "Ingenius."

Stiles let out a short laugh, nodding at his still grinning buddy. They didn't get to spend as much time these days as they once did, and truth be told, he missed his friend. Terribly, sometimes.

For a brief moment everyone stared at each other. They looked terrible. Worse even. Soaked to the skin, shivering and dirty, it felt like a Halloween party gone very wrong. Except it wasn't Halloween and there was no party, atleast none that he was aware of having been invited to.

"Let's get this over with already," Jackson muttered grumpily, and for once, Stiles couldn't have agreed more. Everyone else sounded off their agreements and Derek led them across the hallway to a badly charred door near the stairs. Wordlessly the team moved a couple of furniture standing in the way and stepped back. Stiles lifted his phone to better light the way before them. Derek grabbed the knob and slowly pulled the door open, eliciting a painfully shrill squeak of protest from its ancient hinges. A waft of dampness greeted them from the other side.

"Is that the basement?" Stiles asked dumbly, pointing the flash down at a flight of stairs receding into darkness below. This particular scene eerily reminded him of a strikingly similar one from one of the hack-and-slash movies he had plowed through over the summer, and worse still, the person who had uttered that exact same question hadn't exactly had the happiest of endings. _Think happy thoughts!_

"No, it's where the bodies are stashed, dumbass!" Jackson snorted, but quickly went deadpan when Derek turned around to face the group with a grave expression.

"It's not, is it?" Stiles prodded gingerly, giving a small nervous smile.

Derek made no reply for a _long_ uncomfortable second, then turned to walk down into the basement. "No," he assured him from the darkness below.

Stiles let out a small sigh of relief and stepped forward after Derek. The rest of the group huddled close behind him.

The floor was wet - a conclusion he arrived at through the most embarrassing means possible (which wasn't even that huge of a surprise now considering it was his life in question) when he slipped just at the bottom of the stairs and landed on his bottom for the second time that evening, a situation made all the more humiliating as he flailed about like a giant, clumsy Stiles-sized rag-doll grabbing at air before the inevitable pull of gravity claimed him. Oh, and he didn't actually squeak the most girly squeak in the sad and long history of girly squeaks in the process, despite all of Scott's claims to the contrary. Thankfully Jackson only rolled his eyes and said nothing - a wise decision considering he had just saved his life.

And then it hit him - this could so be used as leverage in every confrontation with Jackson henceforth. _Oh, and by the way, just remember you owe me your_ miserable little _life_. He chuckled inwardly and accepted Scott's and Isaac's outstretched hands to help him up. By some miracle, his phone had not flown out of his hands. Life was a mystery indeed.

Derek shot him a quick look of concern before strolling ahead. Everyone had their phones out now and the dark room was illuminated at sporadic patches. Giant crates sat piled up against the wall. The basement wasn't too spacious and almost every inch of the floor space was occupied.

"What are these?" Stiles found himself asking.

Derek stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to face him. Now that he could see his face, he looked like a war was waging inside him. "My mother- we had a huge collection of books. Eventually we had to make way for more books in the library, so we boxed up the older ones and moved them down here." After a short pause, he added, almost like an afterthought: "Good thing too, they survived the fire down here."

"I'm sorry," Stiles blurted out timidly, relieved to notice that none of the others were in their immediate vicinity.

Derek led out a long breath and gave him a small, tired smile. He didn't say anything, but Stiles didn't need him to. Because it was okay. He smiled back sadly instead. Derek seemed to consider it for a moment before giving him a small nod and turning back to browse through the labels on the crates.

"What are we looking for?" Stiles asked, positioning the light just over Derek's left shoulder to illuminate the label on the box in front.

"That symbol we saw earlier," Derek replied, his voice calmer than Stiles had ever heard him.

"Right, the triskelion," Stiles said, nodding sagely.

"_Found it!_" Lydia's voice called out across the room from somewhere amidst the sea of giant crates. This was quickly becoming a tradition. Derek seemed to have had the same thought cross his mind because the two of them looked at each other and laughed. It was weird and- well, Stiles laughed while Derek just snorted. _Still._

It was the same symbol - a set of three conjoined spirals, in red ink. The crate sat all by itself at the extreme left corner of the basement from the door.

"We'll need a crowbar," Isaac observed and looked up in surprise as Derek held up one. The work-table nearby with a wide assortment of tools explained a lot of things.

Derek promptly set to task on the crate while the rest of the group stood around him feeling all but helpless. Perhaps the most in discomfort was Stiles, who was clinging on to Derek's leather jacket which had been thrust rather unceremoniously into his arms, and was now forced to watch the demi-god flex his muscles while working on the metal shaft. Clearly Lydia had some serious competition cut out for her because the sheer content of the thoughts of questionable nature currently laying siege to his mind was now threatening to reduce every single one of his senses into a blubbering pile of metaphorical goo. He would have offered himself up on a platter unconditionally like the frickin' Pied Piper commanded him, but ultimately thought better of it.

Luckily Stiles was spared the miserable death he was bound to suffer by overdose on an unhealthy amount of sexual frustration when Derek finally dropped the metal rod to the floor with a _clang_ and retrieved a tiny, black box from inside the crate.

"What is it?" Allison asked - the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Let's take it upstairs." Lydia suggested and Derek nodded in agreement.

The group marched upstairs with the box in tow (with Derek). It was then placed on an ancient, charred, three-legged table where they each took turns observing the _find_.

The box wasn't big (it fit snugly in the cupped hollow of two hands) and was shaped like a miniature _treasure-chest_. Stiles discovered to his surprise that it was much heavier than it actually looked. The ebony-black metal was cold to the touch and intricate designs were carved all over its body, except the bottom which was smooth and flat. The most distinctive feature, however, were the three evenly-spaced keyholes at the top of the box.

After the observations were done, next they took turns trying to pry the thing open. Which proved futile in the end. They would need the keys - of which apparently there were to be three - to open the box.

"I can't believe I nearly got myself killed for this," Jackson muttered, looking extremely disgruntled. "And who the hell sets up such dangerous traps anyway?! This is crazy."

The sky was clear now and the warm glow of the setting sum streamed in through the windows, repainting the entire place in muted orange.

"Should we leave now?" Stiles asked, rising to his feet from where he had been crouched on the floor.

"Yes, we should," Derek replied, taking the box in his hands and grasping it securely.

Then there was a moment when everyone just stood there undecidedly, weary smiles plastered on all their faces. The rain had stopped, they had more or less got what they came searching for, and most importantly, they could go home now. It had been a long day and after everything that had happened, no one was going to protest against a nice, long shower and a good night's sleep. Oh, and hey, Stiles had just literally saved someone's life!

In other words, it was perfect. But when you've lived seventeen years in the shoes of Stiles Stilinski, you learn to dread such perfection. _Probe 'em with a ten-foot long pole._ It came as no surprise to him, therefore, when the front-door was suddenly smashed in. Like literally blown off its hinges and slammed to the floor, the frail, old prop of an armchair flying off to the far end of the hall.

"Good evening," a gruff voice greeted them from the doorway.

"Hand it over now very slowly and nobody gets hurt," a second voice followed.

Stiles swallowed hard and glanced sideways at Derek, who he found looking directly into his eyes. _It must be the sunlight_, he thought, because Derek's eyes were glowing fiery red.

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**A/N: Sadly my exams are starting on the 8th and will go on till the 27th, so I won't be able to post too many updates during this time period. However, that is not to say there won't be any. Just not as frequent as I would like. Till chapter 8, take care. :)**


	8. The Beginning Of The End

**A/N: Hey, guys! I am so thrilled to finally present Chapter 8! It hasn't been easy writing this due to my exams, but it was totally worth all the effort. I can only hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I have loved writing it.**

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**CHAPTER EIGHT : THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

"Derek!" Stiles hissed, turning around sharply to face the Greek god in a leather jacket, who quirked an eyebrow at him. This really was getting too distracting. He momentarily almost forgot what he was going to say, but thankfully his primal instinct to survive kicked in before his brain could decide whether it was a good idea to bare himself and sprawl across the ancient, moth-eaten, emerald-green couch, offering up his body as a willing sacrifice and begging His Divine Perfection to have his wicked ways with, and by all means _in_, him. "They're coming for the box!" he said urgently instead.

A confused expression immediately clouded Derek's face. The rest of the group joined in on the whole confusion thing, for which, seriously, he didn't have time right now. Their collective blank stares facing him presently were only adding to his irritation, impatience and frustration. _What the hell?_ Didn't they hear him? _They're coming for the box!_

He knew deep inside that something was so not right with him. He shouldn't be knowing the things he did; it was _impossible_! However, right at this moment, that wasn't important at all. What was important was that they had to get out of here. The others just stood in front of him rooted to the spot, though, staring at him, and he had to wonder for a moment if his shameless musings from earlier had somehow manifested themselves in the shape of several scandalous and most probably traumatising evidential photographs that now remained pinned to his forehead for all the world to see. The thought itself was traumatising so he purposely swiped the back of his right hand across his forehead, if only to reassure himself.

"_What?_" said Scott in a tiny, feeble squeak, looking utterly lost.

"Outside- "

Stiles stopped, realising it was too late now. His heart was racing at the speed of light, blood pumping thunderously in his ears. He could sense them approaching the door. The feeling was intense and bizarre; it was like all of a sudden being overwhelmed by a strong wave of fear or dread or anxiety, only more than that. He could tell that whatever was now standing just outside the door was _not_ human at all. It was human-like, but it wasn't human per se.

Never before had he felt such abject terror in his life. There was a sudden heaviness in the air - almost like a stench, except you couldn't smell it. It was a powerful aura that threatened to smother him, choke the life out of him. He tried to give it a name, he knew that the word was just at the edge of his suddenly traitorous tongue, but came up disappointingly empty-handed. He could sense Derek stiffening up beside him and Stiles knew in that instant that he was not alone in this - Derek could feel it too, somehow.

It happened in the blink of an eye - faster even. Everyone stumbled back startled as the front-door was suddenly slammed to the floor, blasted off its only-too-willing-to-let-go, antique hinges. Isaac's prop tumbled and skidded across the hall to land at the base of the stairs, hardly resembling the dusty old armchair it had been when it finally came to a stop. Jackson let out a strangled cry; then there was absolute silence. Nobody dared move.

The moment almost seemed suspended in time, until a rough, bass-heavy voice finally broke the spell from where a _huge_ (which seriously was an understatement) man stood at the doorway, blocking the entire passage with his gianormous structure.

"Good evening," he said with a _botox_ expression and stepped inside, taking long and slow strides as he surveyed the inside of the house studiously, his face the absolute standard of cold and expressionless. Stiles began to wonder if there was actually something wrong with the muscles on his face which rendered him incapable of flexing themselves in the shape of anything other than the stone-set one he was presently dragging around, when a second voice drew his and everyone else's attention back to the doorway.

"Hand it over now very slowly and nobody gets hurt," the familiar voice said and Stiles could already feel the rage bubbling up inside him. However, everything went blank and his brain froze at what happened next.

"_Kate?!_" Derek and Allison exclaimed at the same time and the woman at the entrance flicked her hair with a smirk. It was the first time Stiles actually had a good look at the woman from the break-ins. She was dressed in black biker attire - black leather jacket zipped all the way up, black biker gloves, skin-tight black jeans, and black high boots. She remained standing at the doorway, twirling her auburn, shoulder-length hair around her right index finger, still with that irritating smirk that Stiles felt a burning desire to knock off her face with a steely punch.

The look on Derek's face, however, banished all other thoughts from his mind. Stiles couldn't say exactly what he saw but it looked like...disgust. But there was more. He could sense that the air around Derek had shifted - it felt different. It felt warm, like Derek was suddenly radiating an insane amount of body-heat. He swallowed hard and finally gathered enough courage to lock eyes with him. Stiles knew that it couldn't possibly be the sunlight because none of the light streaming in through the windows landed directly on Derek, whose eyes were _glowing_ - yes, frickin' glowing like a cat's, except more disturbing because Derek, as far as he knew, wasn't one.

Derek's hands were clasped tight on the black box, knuckles white, and Stiles realised only now that Derek was shaking - not _shit-is-he-having-a-frickin'-seizure-now?_ but a barely noticeable one. He himself had only noticed it because he had been standing quite close to Derek, and maybe a little because he had been paying such close attention to the man in question. And totally not in a creepy kind of way but more like _dude-you-are-so-frickin'-hot-I-can't-keep-my-eyes-off-you_. Oh- oh- oh- and now Derek was staring right into his eyes like he couldn't wait to rip him apart, and not in the pleasureably painful kind of way (which was how he'd prefer it). He realised too late that he had probably been staring for god-knows-how-long at Derek and quickly looked away, turning his attention back to Kate _I-Am-Seriously-Gonna-Maim-You-For-Life_, who now bore a holier-than-thou self-satisfactory air about her as she seemed to have found something quite amusing on the ground just in front of her feet. She let out a low whistle and took a slow stroll into the house, surveying the inside and looking everywhere but at the small huddle of frightened kittens (_uh...what?!_)- _teenagers_ and one pissed off badass wolf, aka Derek _Smokin' Hot_ Hale.

Derek growled as Kate _Don't-Think-I-Was-Kidding-I-Am-Seriously-Gonna-Maim-You-For-Life_ approached the group. Yep, it was a distinctive growl, no doubt about it - like, _who does that?_ Seriously.

"My, my..." Kate _Holy-Hell-Step-Back-Right-Now-I'm-Warning-You_ purred seductively, stopping her lazy stroll right in front of Derek _Please-Kill-Her-For-Me_ Hale. (Black Leather Jacket, meet Black Leather Jacket.) She raised up a perfectly poised right hand and began to _walk_ her index and middle fingers up the front of Derek's jacket, stopping only at the base of his clenched jaw; then let her fingers trail all the way back down before finally retracting her hand, but only after fleetingly looping a finger behind Derek's belt buckle and lightly tugging at it.

"Get away from me!" Derek growled from behind clenched teeth.

"_Kate!_" It was Allison again, looking just as confused as everyone else. "Kate, what- "

"Ah!" Kate _Da-Fuck-Is-Going-On?_ cried, beaming suddenly. "Allison, is it? Sorry, big sister cannot come to the phone right now, can you leave a message instead?"

Kate _Are-You-Fuckin'-Kidding-Me?_'s smile dropped from her face; and so did the one that had been growing on Allison's, only to be replaced by one of complete and utter confusion.

"_Kate_, it's me, _Allison_!" she cried, nearly in tears. "Your sister!"

Kate..._Argent_?! Stiles' brain momentarily refused to file away this newly discovered piece of information, utter disbelief over-riding any and all coherency. He looked from Allison to Kate to Allison to Kate... Besides the difference in hair colour - Kate's being auburn and Allison's black - they did share similar facial features - the nose, the mouth, that delicate jaw - which only seemed to become more decidedly pronounced the more he observed. _Well, fuck me!_

"Kate!" Allison cried again, this time in tears, sobbing loudly. "Say someth- "

"I am _not_ your sister!" Kate interrupted her, a wild expression passing through her eyes for a fraction of a second, before her lips curled into an evil smile. "But Derek here has already realised that, hasn't he? Tell her, Derek."

Stiles' eyes instantly darted to Derek's, half in shock and half in search of any semblance of an explanation. What he saw instead sent a chill down his spine. Derek's eyes were now burning with unbridled rage, his tightly clenched jaw quivering distinctly.

Near him Scott was trying to console an inconsolable Allison. Lydia and Jackson stood a few feet away, looking on helplessly and fearfully. Isaac stood behind the old, emerald-green couch, clutching the head-rest for all he was worth.

"Hand over the box right now," Kate said with a fake smile, tilting her head slightly, but raised an eyebrow in surprise when Derek only intensified his hold on the little black box. "_Please_, Derek, don't make this any harder than it ought to be," she sighed in a sultry little voice.

"You are not getting your hands on this," Derek growled back in a low, menacing tone.

The tension in the room then was palpable. Stiles noticed the _giant man_ and Kate exchange a look. This was bad. The odds though, he calculated nervously, were slightly in their favour. Kate didn't look like she'd be much of a challenge, so it was more like six against one. Surely five desperate to survive hormonal teenagers and one badass _not_ teenager could take down one over-sized gorilla. He swallowed fearfully; he did not have a good feeling about this at all. But hey, when was the last time he had had a good feeling about _anything_? That's right, he had no frickin' idea.

"Aw..." Kate drawled at last, pouting her lips. "Adorable..._but_ I'm afraid I just don't have the time right now to stop and rub your tummy."

She flicked a finger and that was all the warning they ever got. The huge man flexed his neck and arms, walking determinedly toward Derek, who didn't even flinch when the man finally came to a stop mere inches away from him, towering a good feet-and-a-half above him.

"The box," the man said in a deep bass, extending an open hand, palm facing up.

"I said you are not getting your filthy hands on this!" Derek said calmly, looking up to meet the other's eyes challengingly. _Oh no!_ Stiles struggled to understand why Derek would be so stubborn about this. _Just give him the damn box!_ He nearly said it out loud too but his words abruptly faded away on his lips as Derek grunted heavily and the next instant, went flying through the air only to slam against the wall on the far end of the hall.

"_Derek!_" The words left his mouth without his knowledge, coming out as a hoarse cry. He wasn't thinking straight anymore - not that he had been exclusively thinking _straight_ all his life anyway. There was a strange emotion welling up inside him. There was a log drum beating in his ears. He only subconsciously realised that he was stumbling his way toward Derek's motionless body lying on the floor. When he finally got there, he knelt down. Derek's eyes were closed but his hands were still tightly holding on to the box. There was a small trail of blood trickling down the side of his mouth. Stiles realised to his frustration that his eyes were burning, flooding up with unshed tears. He muttered a quiet curse.

He only faintly heard a voice - Lydia's voice, he later recalled - yelling in the distance before an enormous fist collided with the right side of his face. A searing pain coupled with a dizzying black-out enveloped him at once. He didn't remember tumbling or skidding or flying across the hall, but when he opened his eyes after a few excruciatingly disoriented seconds, everyone was congregated around him.

"Derek..." he mumbled, as Lydia and Allison helped him sit up. He glanced over Jackson's shoulder and saw the man bending down toward Derek's unconscious body. Suddenly he was on his feet again, that same intense emotion from earlier returning within him. He realised that it was anger. Scott and Isaac were trying to hold him back but he couldn't make out what they were shouting at him. The pounding was back in his ears.

Then everything just seemed to slow down. Scott's and Isaac's hands dropped from where they were grabbing his arms as he stopped struggling against them. There was an inhuman roar and a split-second later, the man who had just been trying to pry away the box from Derek's hands was knocked back by the blunt force of a punch to his jaw and then went tumbling across the floor, knocking away a few furniture on his way, before finally skidding to a halt near Kate's feet.

There was a stunned silence as Derek, at the far end of the room, slowly rose to his feet. The man on the floor groaned and very slowly stood up, shaking his head. Kate's face was one of utter shock. Well, everyone else was in shock too. _Especially_ Stiles, who had to presently close a gaping mouth. _Wow, Derek was incredible! Was he even human?!_

There was no respite, however, to allow his thoughts to wander too far on the subject. Kate raised up a hand and gently patted the man on the back.

"Bring me the box, Rob!" she said in a low but deadly voice. There was none of the playfulness in her voice anymore.

The man, Rob, nodded mutely and took a few steps forward. Then he ripped off his shirt. Just tore it off his body, discarding the clothing to the floor before letting out a low grunt and marching ahead. Stiles swallowed hard in apprehension. For one, witnessing the ripping off of the shirt was enough to make him shudder with cold dread. Normal people do _not_ do that. _Fellas, we are now dealing with a level of savagery far beyond anything we have ever seen or heard of._

Derek's eyes, Stiles observed, were now glowing even more than they had been earlier. By now of course, everyone else had noticed it too. Including Kate (or whoever she was; seriously, between Allison's heart-wrenching episode and Kate's general heartless_ness_ , he was utterly confused) - who seemed to be observing the whole situation with a certain reserve now.

"What's up with Derek's eyes?" Lydia asked from behind Stiles as the group slowly circled the man from the back, the girls pushed back to second line.

"Stay back!" Derek warned them all of a sudden, taking a defensive stance, a low rumble escaping his throat. Stiles didn't even have time to reply as the two men collided. He observed that Derek had only one hand to defend himself as he clutched the box in one hand. He managed to fend off a succession of quick punches but failed to thwart one as it hit him right beneath his jaw, sending him staggering back.

_Fuck Derek and his stubborn masochism!_ If he thought Stiles was gonna simply stand around while he got beaten to a pulp, he was gravely mistaken. Grabbing a sizable chunk of broken furniture lying nearby, he swung at the man, Rob. However, although he had aimed for the head, apparently he had undercompensated for the difference in height - because the other end of the block of wood only managed to slap the base of the man's neck with a rather dull _thud_. It was a pitiable attempt at best.

The man turned around to face him. He swallowed and raised the wood again, ready to club Rob over the head this time, but found himself unable to swing the weapon. Belatedly he discovered a gianormous hand attached to the other end, holding in firmly in place. The club was snatched away from his grip and flung aside as the other hand closed around his neck, choking him. He flailed and kicked and punched - to no avail. Well, honestly, he hadn't seen this one coming. Of all the other more dreadful, more painful and less desirable ways to die, _choked to death_, really? _Come on!_ Even in death, life was being such a pain in the- wait, did that make any sense _at all_?!

Then the pressure on his windpipe was suddenly gone. As his vision slowly swam into focus, he saw Rob lying on the ground, groaning miserably and trying to stand up. Derek, standing beside the grovelling figure and breathing heavily, was holding his _club_ in one hand and the box in the other.

"I told you, you are not getting it!" he snarled at Kate, who only raised an amused eyebrow in reply.

There was a sudden, frantic movement on the floor and all eyes darted downward as Rob let out a seriously frightening primal cry - half-shriek, half-roar. Before their concerted horrified eyes, the man's body began to distort - bulging out here, caving in there. His skin wrinkled and turned dark, and his bones appeared to be shifting beneath his skin. Stiles took a stumbling step back. _Seriously, what the frickin' fuckin' fuck!_ It was no longer a man that was lying on the ground before them now. Everyone slowly backed away and huddled into a small group a little distance away.

As the creature finally rose to its feet, Stiles came face-to-face with what he had feared all along. There was no trace of the human left at all. In his place stood a monster. Its skin was jet black and it glistened where it caught the sunlight. It looked humanoid but where its eyes should have been, there was _nothing_. Just a stretch of black skin. _The creature had no eyes!_ There were frickin' _spikes_ running down its back! It got down on all four and sniffed the air through a pair of thin slits (that was apparently all there was to its nose), inhaling deeply - then let out a blood-curdling cry straight from the pits of hell. Its mouth stretched open almost halfway across its head, revealing two rows of humongous sharp teeth. Its tongue was black. Thick streams of saliva dripped from the creature's mouth as it let out another frightening cry.

"What the hell is that?!" Allison screamed, throwing herself into Scott's arms.

"Give them the damn box, Derek!" Jackson cried, his face terror-ridden. Beside him Lydia stood trembling, clinging to the open flap of his jacket.

Then it happened - too fast to see or react to. All they knew was that Isaac was now lying on the floor, bleeding from his left leg. It must have been a deep wound because his jeans were soon soaked through. Allison burst into tears but knelt down with the others to _help_, even though no one knew exactly what to do.

"Derek, just give 'em the thing!" Lydia pleaded, looking helplessly from the gasping Isaac to Derek and back. Then she let out a yelp of pain as a spurt of blood erupted from her face. Stiles felt his heart stop in his chest. He stood there transfixed, unable to move, as Jackson dabbed her cheek with his hankerchief. Thankfully it turned out to have only been a small cut. A stream of hot tears brimmed over her eyes and flooded down her cheeks, but she made no attempt to wipe them away - just bowed her head as Jackson drew an arm over her and held her close to him.

"You hear them, Derek?" Kate cried mockingly from across the room. "Atleast they have more sense than you do. Or is it because...you couldn't care less if I killled them all right now. One. By. One."

Derek let out a frightening roar - primal and hardly human. Stiles slowly turned to look at him. He couldn't help but wonder if what Kate had just said had any truth in it. Did Derek even care about him? Then he realised how pathetic he really was. _Him_, really? He was getting worried shit about that right now?

And then of course it happened. It had to. Atleast it wasn't as terrifying as he'd imagined it'd be. Naturally. If there was one thing he'd learnt from his short existence so far, it was that the _wait_ was always so much worse that the actual _incident_.

There was a sharp pain in his chest. He coughed up blood. He looked down and vacantly saw a set of razor-sharp claws poking out of the front of his chest. He only distantly heard a flurry of activity around him as he crumbled to the floor. People were shouting and crying and holding him and in general making a huge fuss. His eyes were fixed on Derek, however.

Their eyes met. Derek's seemed to quiver, widening and staring straight into his own. Then he had that warm feeling again, like Derek was suddenly radiating heat. He wanted to curl up in the warmth and go to sleep. But Derek's gaze held him in place. Then something happened that would change their lives forever. Not just his and Derek's, but everyone else's as well.

The entire house began to tremble as Derek crumbled to his knees, clutching his head in both his hands as he let go of the box for the very first time. Stiles saw that his eyes were now not just glowing, they were fucking _shining_! It was as if a torch had been lit just behind them. There was a black vapour emanating from his mouth. And then all of a sudden the place felt like a furnace - blazing hot.

It happened without any warning. Derek's entire body burst into flames, engulfing him completely, as he let out an agonizing scream. Stiles couldn't tell if it was pain or something else. He felt hands dragging him back into a corner but he didn't bother to check who it was. His eyes never left Derek. _Fucking beautiful_, he thought, and he didn't know whether he meant the flames or Derek himself. It didn't make much difference either way.

Then he felt something stir within him. He didn't know what it was but all of a sudden he felt different. The pain was gone. He knew that everything was going to be okay. He allowed a content smile to spread across his face.

There was a strangled cry next, but he already knew what it was. Derek was on his feet, holding a struggling creature by its throat. _Rob._ It was over before it had even begun. A limp figure collapsed to the floor, _dead_.

Stiles watched almost through a haze as Kate lunged herself at a literally blazing Derek. There was a wild, beastly cry as a long, thrashing, reptilian tail whipped at Derek but he caught it, then swung the rest of Kate's body attached to it against the wall. For a brief moment Stiles caught Kate's eyes and he saw that they were black - completely black, all over. When she got up from the floor she licked a long, forked, serpentine tongue over her lips before letting out a foggy breath. Without a warning, the flames around Derek's body suddenly leaped up as though they had a life of their own, charging toward Kate. Just before they reached her, however, a silvery wall erupted from the ground in front of her, towering up to the ceiling.

Just at that moment, Stiles felt another presence in the room. It was a strange aura because he thought there were actually two new entities but somehow they seemed to merge into one. A growl unlike anything he had ever heard rumbled across the room and instantly the wall of ice shattered just as the flames enveloping Derek vanished. He could just barely make out the faint outline of a staggering, naked Derek out of the corner of his eye before the figure collapsed to the floor.

"Leave now, Arianna!" a very familiar voice commanded all of a sudden.

Stiles found that he was suddenly overcome by an intense desire to just close his eyes and sleep. He forced his eyes to snap open; he had to know. A set of black biker boots walked past his field of vision; it was Kate, or Arianna - _apparently_. In the middle of the room there was a blue fire blazing. It made no sense. He willed his eyes to look up at the person standing near the fire. His eyes widened slightly as he saw who it was - but they were already closing on their own now.

He wondered what was going to happen to him. It didn't matter, however, because he was going to be asleep for a very long time. He was just curious, that's all. The feeling inside him was weakening now but he could sense that everyone around him - Lydia, Scott, Allison, Jackson, Isaac - were already asleep. Derek was still awake but barely. He tried to look but couldn't make out anything from behind his half-lidded eyes.

He sighed. _Derek._ Fucking. _Hale._ Damn right. He felt a dull ache inside him. But he smiled nonetheless. Then his eyes drew shut.

He could have sworn it hadn't been a dream, but somehow he wasn't so sure either. After all, he couldn't possibly have seen an enormous _three-headed_ dog standing over him, could he? What an absurd image.

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**A/N: That's all for now, but I would like to quickly point out a few things. Recently I did a lot of edits all over the story, in every single chapter. I don't have a beta and I don't exactly comb through my writing with a magnifying glass, so a lot of typos slip through. I know how distracting they can be while reading a story, so I sat down and weeded them out. I hope I got most of them but if you do find any anywhere, please let me know. I hope it makes for a more enjoyable read.**

**Now for the second part: _Sterek_. I went through every single interaction between Derek and Stiles and edited the scenes wherever necessary. I hope it makes their relationship appear more streamlined now instead of the haphazard mess it was earlier. If you are interested in knowing how their relationship will evolve over the course of the story, _please check out the completely rehashed ending of Chapter 5_. Much of their dynamics will be based on the implications of those two scenes.**

**I hope it's been a fun read. Till Chapter 9 (which I cannot wait to start writing already!), take care. :)**


	9. Dead Man Walking

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for continuing to read this fic. Took a while writing this chapter, but here it is at last.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE : DEAD MAN WALKING**

The moment Stiles opened his eyes he was in a panic. Because- _oh god, there were so many reasons, where did he even begin?!_ Then he realised he was lying on his bed, in his room - tucked in no less at that. The sole window in the room on the wall to his right was curtained, a thin border of dancing light running all the way around the edge of the thick fabric like a halo. The room was enclosed in partial darkness. It was quiet, too quiet for comfort - the sort of quietness that threatened to drive you to madness. The silence only seemed to amplify the thumping of his heart - deafeningly loud to his ears. He dared not move, half-expecting something to suddenly leap out at him. When nothing did, he slowly relaxed into the waiting arms of panic again.

There were a thousand different thoughts fighting over one another for his attention inside his head. His hands instantly flew up to his chest and brushed against smooth, unbroken skin. Only now he realised he was shirtless. Quickly darting a hand under the covers to assess the situation in the area below his waist, he sat up straight on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered he was actually in his boxer shorts. His bedside digital alarm clock glowed _7:14 AM_ in harsh red LED - an unignorable presence in the darkness of the room.

He groaned in agony when he raised his hand to rub the morning out of his eyes, accidentally brushing the right side of his face. His eyes watered slightly and he took in a deep hiss of air, before stifling a curse that almost escaped his lips. _It fucking hurt!_ The entire right side of his face was on fire. _Fire._ Fire- _Derek!_

He flung the covers off of him and stumbled off the bed, faltering slightly as he fought to gain balance on his bare feet. _Do not panic. Even if nothing makes any fucking sense!_ He stood undecidedly for a few seconds before letting out a frustrated grunt and marching toward the window, drawing the curtains apart. Bright light flooded in at once. _Too fucking bright._ He scowled and shut his eyes against the painful glare of morning light, then turned around and walked across the room to the bathroom.

Turning on the light he warily stepped toward the cabinet mirror, letting out a small surprised gasp as he saw his reflection. There was a deep, raw gash on his right cheekbone and the area surrounding it was swollen. Every little nagging worry that had been tugging at his brains ever since he had woken up suddenly made an overwhelming mutinous entry into his consciousness. _How was he still alive? Where and how were the others? How was he going to face his dad?_ Not to mention that last time he checked, their front-door was literally battered and their living-room looked like the aftermath of a crazed spree of irrational vandalism, which, in fact, it actually was. He was royally fucked, thank you.

And Derek. _Oh god, Derek!_ That was easily the most disturbing memory of all. Of course the trustworthiness of his memory at the moment was under extreme suspicion, but still, what he remembered was enough to drive his brain into a rapid panic-induced overdrive. It was all a horrible, frighteningly realistic nightmare. It had to be. How else could he explain the absence of any kind of wound on his chest when he distinctly _remembered_ being impaled through it. Also, now that he actually considered the possibility of it, he earnestly hoped he had not really seen Derek spontaneously combust. That was exactly the kind of stuff that led to people getting committed to mental institutions in the first place. It was fucking ridiculous was what it was. There was also the slightest chance that he was finally losing it. _About frickin' time too._

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs starting to form inside his head. His thoughts always seemed to have a life of their own. If he allowed them to wander too far, they seemed to quickly spiral out of control until he feared he'd lose control of his brain altogether. He shuddered at the thought.

_Stop!_ Deep breath. _Stay calm._ There was absofuckinglutely no frickin' use panicking the hell out right now, even if every single cell in his body threatened to do a mass flailing around doing just that. Right now there was only one thing he knew he should be doing, and that was go see his father at the hospital. He hadn't even called or texted to let him know he was okay, or that he wouldn't be coming back to the hospital - the previous night. Knowing his dad, he'd be practically conjuring up all kinds of worst case scenarios, most of them involving him bloody and beaten, and/or dead. And that was just the sort of thing he _shouldn't_ be doing, especially now of all times. Because he had a bullet-wound halfway through his chest, and he should be resting, and Stiles should be there beside him telling him how much he loved him. _Oh god, he was a horrible son!_ He had already accumulated a lifetime's debt of karma to pay, and he was only seventeen.

Deep breath.

_Calm. The. Fuck. Down._

Okay, better.

_I am the master of my own life._ He could almost see Ms. Morell's sunny-as-a-sunflower face of eternal hope urging him to repeat the _magic mantra_. _As many times as it took_ till he could feel himself relax a bit. The funniest thing - and also which had come as a shock at first - was that it always seemed to work. Well, most of the time, to be fair. However, there was also always that nagging voice at the back of his mind that never failed to remind him that the very fact that he _needed_ to chant the magic mantra meant he still had a long way to go. _Well, thank you very much, Negative Nancy._ He was sure there was a whole host of evil narcissistic satirists living inside his head, collectively laughing at every waking moment of his life.

He sighed and turned to walk out of the bathroom when he noticed the clothes he distinctly remembered wearing the previous day lying in his laundry basket near the door. He froze instantly. Okay, so someone had got him out of those and tucked him into bed last night. He squatted on his haunches slowly and gingerly lifted the black T-shirt with the red bull's-eye print between his right thumb and index finger like it was radioactive or something worse. Something worse like it would suddenly assume a life of its own and stuff itself down his throat, suffocating him. Which - truth be told - if it actually happened, would actually not be much of a surprise anyway. He wore the damn T-shirt too often for its own good.

He turned the T-shirt around front and back, but could not see any tear in the fabric on either side. Same with the plaid button-down, except for a few splotches of dirt on the back, obviously from his brief tussle with Jackson in his selfless attempt to save the other's life. The tiny jitter of pride that presented itself at the memory promptly took flight when the implications of the _evidence_ before his eyes sank into his mind. The memory of that incident was as clear as any other he remembered from the adventures of the previous evening. And yet, somehow, every piece of evidence said otherwise. The clothes were intact, and so was his body. Nothing added up. Did someone switch his real clothes with identical ones, just like they had done with the evidence that led to Isaac's incrimination? Oh god, did that mean they switched his _real_ body too? He had read somewhere that there were secret laboratories somewhere in Japan where they could actually just dump your old brain into a new body. Okay, maybe he might have just made that up, but we can never be too sure. One could never overestimate mad scientists anyway. Because- A) they were genius psychopaths with a flair for the dramatic cackle; and B) he had watched too many movies to ever put his faith in one.

The loud buzz of his mobile phone on his bedside table startled him out of his thoughts. He practically sprinted across the room to grab his phone, heaving a huge sigh of sweet relief when he saw the puppy-dog eyes begging him to receive the call.

"Scott! Thank god you're okay- you're okay, right? Where are you? How is Allison? I think I'm okay but there's someth- "

"Stiles! I just woke up. I don't even remember how- yesterday- I can't remember how I got home. Allison's fine- she woke me up actually."

Stiles bit his lower lip and waited for a few seconds, expecting Scott to go all mother-hen on him any second, asking about how he was and in general freaking out and hardly doing anything to reassure Stiles about the fact that a frickin' monster from hell had literally impaled him through the chest with its claws. Scott, however, did no such thing. In fact, there was an extremely long and awkward silence that seemed to daunt Stiles all the more as it continued its reign because it was his turn to say something, and Scott was waiting.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" Scott asked cautiously at long last.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Stiles replied, putting on one of his I-don't-have-a-frickin'-care-in-the-world smiles even though Scott couldn't see him through the phone. "You don't happen to remember me getting hurt, do you?" he then asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed and tilting his head sideways to sandwich his phone against his shoulder, while he twiddled his thumbs nervously.

"What? No!" Scott's voice immediately came through, sounding suddenly worried. "Stiles, are you? Hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Stiles replied, taking his phone in his hand again. He felt hardly reassured by Scott's admission of _having no recollection_ of the incident. Atleast that was the choice of words he preferred to use, because if what Scott said and all the other evidence that pointed toward the exact same conclusion were the absolute truth, what was this memory he had. A memory that, by all accounts, appeared to be fake. To admit that he had the memory of an incident that had actually never happened was difficult and scary. The implications of such an admission was even scarier. Had he been _incepted_? He shook his head to banish the thought from his mind. He was _not_ going there right now.

"Hey, you are going to see your dad at the hospital now, right?" Scott's voice helped him find his way back to civilisation. He cleared his throat and made an affirmative sound. "Can you drop by my house on your way?"

"Okay...but why?"

"Dude, it's Sunday! And I'm alone at my house- well, my mom is here too but she's sleeping so that doesn't count. Also, Allison said she's staying in today. But mostly because you're my best friend and I wanna hang out with you."

Stiles couldn't help a huge grin from manifesting itself on his face and swallowing it up. He wallowed in his bliss for a few seconds before realising that he was supposed to say something.

"I'll be there in..." - he twisted around to look at his alarm clock to check the time; _7:39 AM_ glowed back at him in menacing red - "...half-an-hour, 8:15."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. There were two text messages waiting for him - one from his dad and another from Laura. He opened the first one.

_Don't go running off into the woods again._

What could his dad possibly mean by that? Why did everything in his life lately have to _not_ make any frickin' sense! He understood that his dad was referring to his incorrigible tendency to listen in on his calls and trot along to crime scenes he had absolutely no reason to be caught in - often with an extremely unwilling accomplice, namely a certain Scott McCall. However, Stiles failed to understand why his dad would send him such an offhand text out of nowhere. Heck, he couldn't remember the last time either he or his dad had actually sent the other a text. They just didn't do texts.

Pursing his lips in deep thought, he scrolled over to Laura's text.

_Is Derek wit u?_

The text had arrived at 10:53 last night. It would be extremely stupid to reply now. And that was it. He was not going to think of Derek at all. There were certain memories he had managed to lull away to the back of his mind that he did not want to probe. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from freaking the hell out. So, period. End of discussion.

He lifted his arm and sniffed under it, immediately jerking his head back up with a repulsed grimace. _Because that was such an awesome distraction._ Evidently whoever had stripped him and got him to bed last night hadn't bothered to give him a good scrubbing down. Not that he found the thought of a complete stranger manhandling his naked, unconscious body particularly alluring. Whatever, he needed to have a shower right now and get going if he didn't wanna keep Scott waiting. Which, by the way, if he had the great misfortune of doing, he'd have to contend with a merciless subjection to the greatest guilt-trip of his life, because, even he had to admit, Scott's puppy-dog eyes were definitely the real deal. And puppy-dog eyes were his one weakness.

Because puppies were only baby angels placed on planet earth meant for us to cuddle and snuggle away our tears on some sad, lonely day when you're sitting in some dark corner of a room once full of love and happiness, searching for a face, a smile, a touch, a kiss that you have learnt to accept you can never have again, and your father yells at you in a drunken rage that you can't keep him.

Of course that is until they grow out of their tinyness and suddenly you find that you can't cuddle them anymore; and then they just scowl and stare and brood at and over you all day long instead; still you can't help but feel your heart beating slightly faster everytime you look into their eyes, or stand too close to them, or imagine _him_-

He let out a small grunt of self-reproach and promptly stood up. He couldn't afford to wallow in his funk all day long. He had somewhere he needed to be. Dropping his phone on the bed, he walked with determination toward the bathroom. Once inside, he slipped off his boxers and dropped them into the laundry basket. Completely naked now, he grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed out a rather large dollop of toothpaste onto it, and went to the basin, brushing speedily as he studied his face in the mirror. The gash on his face didn't look too bad but he'd obviously have to do some explaining.

Once he was done with the brushing, he stepped under the shower and allowed himself to relax under the spray of warm water. Usually he'd only have cold showers in the morning because they tended to jumpstart his brain more efficiently and also prevented him from spending too much time in the shower. Today, however, was a Sunday, and Scott and his puppy-dog eyes could most definitely wait a few minutes, unlike his classes. Smiling at his impulsive need to justify a hot shower instead of a cold one, he ran his fingers through his hair - untangling errand strands wherever necessary - and making a mental note to have a haircut soon. Ever since his mother passed away, he had never really grown out his hair - until now that is. It had felt weird at first, but now it actually felt nice.

Careful not to touch the gash on his face, he brushed his hair out of his eyes and reached out for the shampoo - also a novelty, because he hadn't actually needed to use one until a few weeks ago. The excitement of shampooing had not worn off yet and it was easily his favourite part of his showers. With some effort, he managed to censor any and all thoughts of the incident from the previous day out of his mind, choosing to immerse himself fully into the moment. It was difficult and by the time he was rinsing off the shampoo, he was almost sad that he was seventeen and all alone. Because he had to hope that he hadn't been completely imagining things when he thought he saw a look pass through Derek's eyes the previous evening - one he recognised only too well.

_Fuck!_ Because the universe seemed to have found an unlimited source of pleasure in his misery. He can always only observe from a distance, knowing that he could never have it. His obsession with Lydia should be the highlight of it all. He still found her frickin' hot and not too long ago, if she had offered him a chance, he would have snatched it in an instant - but now he was just fucking _tired_. Of the chase; of his eternal pretence; of always being second. Or one hundredth.

Whether he wanted to believe it or not, Derek seemed like the perfect build-up for yet another epic letdown. At first, he had been completely wrapped up in his fear of the guy for his thoughts to wander down any other direction. But then everything had changed that very night when he realised that Derek was just as vulnerable, scared and lonely as he was - despite what he might try to cover it up with. And maybe, just maybe, he had been so love-starved and ignored by everyone, even his best friend, for so long that when someone actually showed some interest in him, he seized it with both hands and clung on. He knew that he was pathetic and hopeless. But it had to mean something when Derek had been the one beside him, holding his hand, when he needed a friend the most. He didn't even know how he would have made it through on his own outside the ER, waiting for the news that could have in all probability shattered his world, without Derek by his side.

He sighed and began to speed up the lathering when he realised he was gonna run late if he did not hurry. _Well, fuck it all._ He was pouting, but really, he had every fucking right to. Also, thinking about Derek in the shower - bad idea. Up until a few days ago he had been happily existing inside his Lydia bubble, but then Derek had literally come out of nowhere and wasted no time settling himself down in every single corner of Stiles' life like he fucking belonged. _The arrogant bastard._

Muttering to himself, he took his already hard length in his right hand and began to take care of his problem. _Derek, you are so gonna pay for this!_ By the time he came, however, all thoughts of vengeance had long deserted his mind as he clung on for dear life on the showerhead above with his unoccupied hand, nearly buckling to the tiled floor under the force of his release; face squashed sideways on the wall in front and gasping Derek's name in a spectacularly pathetic, needy voice, shocking even himself.

Sauntering out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and feeling suspiciously blissful, he took one quick look at the time on the bedside clock before launching himself into a flurry of activity. Pulling on a fresh pair of boxers and no underwear _because reasons_, he slipped on a white T-shirt and a pair of light brown pants, and hurriedly put on his favourite pair of Converse shoes. Uselessly wasting an entire minute trying to decide between a black-and-white chequered shirt and his favourite grey jacket, he ultimately settled on the latter and stepped out of his room after quickly fixing his damp hair and grabbing his mobile phone from the bed and his wallet from one of his jeans pockets.

Downstairs another surprise awaited him. He didn't recollect either him or his dad hiring a housekeeper recently _or ever_, and yet somehow all the mess had been magically cleaned up. _Did he have a fairy godmother or something?_ Even the lock on the front-door had been replaced with a new one and the new set of keys had been left on the kitchen table. What's more, his jeep's keys were there as well. Racing to the door, he looked out at the driveway and there it was. _His baby._ God bless whoever drove it all the way back here.

Scott called then, wanting to know where he was, and he had to quickly apologise before grabbing his keys and running out. It was 8:20 AM when he left his house (carefully averting his eyes from the direction of Derek's house), and he arrived at Scott's at 8:33. Scott looked grumpy as he climbed into the passenger's seat, and _dear lord_, there they were - the kicked-puppy eyes. Stiles could only swallow and apologise profusely. They drove to Bacon Barn laughing and talking about anything and everything except what they both knew they were each dying to talk about. They grabbed their favourite corner table and were soon feasting on a questionable amount of burgers, curly fries and milkshakes. Because, between the two of them, they were the most awesome best friends bonding food out there. No contest.

"Scott?" Stiles said nervously, once they were both stuffed, gazing intently into his curly fries as he lazily picked at them. Scott made a non-committal sound and Stiles continued: "What do you remember from yesterday?"

Scott remained stubbornly silent so Stiles pressed on.

"Do you remember...Derek..." - his heartrate nearly tripled saying that name aloud - "...um...you know, the fire?"

Scott didn't reply immediately. He breathed in deeply before speaking in a voice so low Stiles had to strain his ears trying to actually hear what his best friend was saying: "I was trying to convince myself it was a dream."

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. Because they didn't understand what they were supposed to be even talking about. There was so much to be said and not enough courage to say it. They were scared about what they had to talk about, but what scared them the most was the thought of the words actually leaving their mouths. Because words once spoken can never be unspoken. They remain suspended in the spaces between conversations and memories and people for all eternity. And everyone would eventually come to hear them at some point and fingers would inevitably be pointed.

When enough minutes had been allowed to slip by in silence, and enough sentences had been formulated and discarded - they both raised their eyes, as if on cue, to look at each other.

"What the _fuck_ do we do?!" said Stiles in a whisper, panic rising.

"I don't know," said Scott wearily, sounding much older than his seventeen years. "When Allison called me up this morning, I knew she had wanted to talk about it. But neither of us said anything, and she hung up after chatting on about- I don't even remember what we talked about."

"Okay, we won't talk about this for now then," said Stiles, raising his voice above conspiratorial level. "But tomorrow is Monday, so be prepared. Everyone will be there. We can't keep pretending forever like nothing happened."

Scott swallowed and nodded. "I've been meaning to ask you," he said, looking down at his plate and averting Stiles' eyes, "but I was afraid to- anyway, is- is that bruise on your face from- "

"Yes,"Stiles replied quickly, sparing Scott from having to actually say the words. "And I think we should be heading to the hospital now."

They split the bill and left the place. Their brief conversation actually seemed to have livened up their spirits massively. Along the way, they talked about school, girls, Stiles' lack of _getting any_, the latest Spiderman movie and how Andrew Garfield was in every way a better Spiderman than Tobey Maguire ever was, and a whole bunch of other stuff. By the time they pulled in at the Beacon Hills Hospital's parking lot, they were laughing and swearing about stuff that had absolutely no relevance in a place for the sick and suffering. _Just like the old days._

It was 9:30 AM when they entered the Sheriff's room. Laura and he were chatting animatedly about something but instantly dropped whatever it was they had been discussing and broke into huge grins as they entered. Then, just as dramatically, both their grins fell off their faces only to be replaced by identical concerned ones as they stepped closer.

"Stiles, what happened?" the Sheriff asked, starting up from the bed before grimacing in pain and sinking back down.

"Dad!" Stiles dashed forward to sit at the side of the bed, feeling all the guilt in the world well up inside him. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here last night. I- "

"What are you talking about? I got your text," his dad interrupted him, looking perplexed for a second before the concern creeped back in. "Tell me right now how you got that bruise on your face."

"What text?" he blurted out instead, totally confused.

"The one where you said you'd be at Scott's doing homework," his dad answered, giving him a suspicious look. "I'm actually glad you got to spend some time with Scott since you've been whining all summer about how he never has time for you these days."

"_Dad!_" Stiles looked absolutely scandalised. _Could his dad be any more embarrassing?_ He sheepishly glanced sideways at Scott and saw his friend blushing. _Great._

"Stiles, now tell me what happened!" his dad's stern tone instantly sent his brain into a sprint, trying to devise the perfect excuse.

"It was an accident, Mr. Stilinski," Scott answered for him, instantly relegating him into a stunned silence. "Actually I did it. We were wrestling and...it just happened."

The Sheriff seemed to consider it for a few seconds before giving a small smile albeit an unconvinced one. Stiles immediately knew there would be more questions later. But Scott had definitely risen a few ranks up in his books.

"Laura, I'm sorry I saw your text only this morning," he then said, suddenly remembering Laura's text from last night.

"It's alright," Laura brushed him off with a wide smile. "He does that all the time. He wasn't with you though?"

"Nope," Stiles replied, vigorously shaking his head as he blushed violently. "I think you should go home and get some rest now. You've already- "

"Oh, I got some sleep last night," Laura said cheerfully. "Besides, I have classes from tomorrow so today's the only time I have left before I will need to go home anyway."

"In that case I can go and check on Derek for you," Stiles said before he even realised what he was saying.

Laura's face lit up instantly. "That'd be awesome," she said. "Please make sure he gets a proper breakfast."

Stiles could only nod as Laura laughed embarrassedly. As he turned to leave the room, he couldn't help but notice his dad giving him a very familiar look. The _there-will-be-talks_ look. He sighed and gently closed the door behind him, only to discover Scott giving him a look of his own. The _what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking?_ look, if he wasn't mistaken.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Scott demanded of him and Stiles almost rolled his eyes at how well he could read his best friend's various signature expressions. But even he had to stop and ask himself the same question. Because he had no frickin' idea.

"I'm not going to see Derek with you," Scott informed him with finality.

"Scott, you can't do that to me!" Stiles protested, attempting a kicked-puppy expression of his own, which obviously failed, judging from Scott's unaffected scowl.

"I can't go anywhere near Derek right now," Scott said matter-of-factly.

"Fine, I'll go on my own," Stiles declared, putting on his tried-and-tested poker face this time. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?"

A parade of conflicting emotions passed through Scott's face and Stiles actually thought he had changed his mind, but was instantly proven wrong when Scott simply said: "Okay."

The _fro_ trip featured none of the cheerfulness or laughter that had made a brief cameo during the _to_ version. Their conversations were sporadic, strained and generally monosyllabic; and after several futile attempts at starting one, they simply gave up and resigned themselves to silence the rest of the way.

"Hey, Scott!" Stiles called out as Scott wordlessly exited his jeep and walked up toward his front door. An idea - and in all probability an extremely ill-advised one at that - had suddenly creeped into his brain. Scott stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, an apprehensive look on his face. Stiles smiled innocently. Scott knew him too well.

"What?" Scott asked, walking back toward the jeep.

"Can you- uh- " said Stiles, not knowing how best to say it. _Ah, fuck it, Scott would never judge him._ "Can you check your mom's text messages for me?"

"_What?!_" Scott exclaimed, giving him an extremely judgemental look. Okay, maybe it hadn't come out the way he actually meant it.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said reassuringly and Scott's eyebrows pinched together dramatically, hardly reassured. "I didn't actually send my dad any text last night. So someone must have sent one from my phone. I want you to see if your mom received any text from yours last night."

"Oh, okay," Scott replied, looking very relieved.

"Okay...I'll. Catch. You. Later," Stiles said, doing a mock salute.

Scott gave him a nod and he pulled off down the street, headed straight for Derek's. He was nervous and scared, and worried. After what he knew he had witnessed yesterday, he had even more reason to be so. He tried not to focus too much on the images that constantly flashed through his mind, but it was a fucking impossible thing to do. _How was he?_ Laura hadn't heard from him yet, so either he wasn't awake yet, or was awake but not in a position/condition to call, or- _No!_ He realised he had actually said the word aloud.

He didn't even know if Derek was at home right now. If he wasn't, that would just be a seriously fucked up situation. If he was, he hoped he was okay. Still, there was a constant fear tugging at his attention from the back of his mind - like something you can only barely see out of the corner of your eye but darts off when you turn to look at it. Something he couldn't define but knew was very real. His palms were sweaty on the steering wheel and his heart was beating like a race horse. When had he come to care about someone, anyone, this much. Someone he had only just met. Barely knew. Whatever it was, it was something he had never felt for anyone before - not even for Lydia, he realised. It was a powerful, overwhelming feeling of being bound to Derek - like there was an actual physical tie.

Pulling up beside Derek's house, he had to take a couple of deep breaths before he could get out of the car. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance - atleast not from the outside. Warily he walked up to the front-door, raising his hand to knock - but changed his mind at the last minute and tried turning the handle instead. The door was unlocked. He stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him. The inside was quite dark and his eyes took a while to adjust to the new lighting. He thought of turning on a light but decided against it.

"Derek!" he whispered urgently as he walked toward the stairs and immediately felt foolish when he was only met with silence. Okay, upstairs it was then. Taking one slow step at a time, making extremely sure he didn't make the slightest sound, he inched his way up the stairs. This felt so wrong in so many ways. He hoped he hadn't made a grave mistake in actually doing this. What if Derek bowled him over the head with a baseball bat thinking he was a burglar? What if he decided to call the cops instead? Oh god, he could already see the look on his father's face. And worst of all, _what if Derek wasn't here?_ He stopped at the top of the stairs to _calm the fuck down_, before cautiously making his way toward the one door that stood slightly ajar.

Stiles would never quite understand the amount of courage and mental prepping it took for him to finally bring himself to push the door open. The room was well-lit from the two large windows - one of which was open - straight across from where he was standing. There wasn't much furniture apart from the huge, king-sized bed in the middle of the room - and therefore not much else to catch his attention. But then, even if there had been an entire orchestra playing in one corner of the room, he doubted he would have noticed it. He stood frozen at the door, staring - just staring, gaping. At the bed - at the figure sprawled on top of it. The man had his back to him but he knew at once, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it was Derek. And- and- he was naked. Just lying there on his side - one leg hiked up above the other and arms splayed out like he didn't have a fucking care in the world.

Stiles swallowed hard and willed himself to move, taking a few tentative steps forward before he stopped. _Should he even be here now?_ What the hell was he even thinking? He turned around at once, ready to bolt out of the room and never look back, when Derek began murmuring in his sleep. He froze on the spot, certain he had been imagining what he thought he had heard. Surely-

"_Stiles..._"

There it was again. And this time unmistakably clear. He turned back around very slowly and saw to his great relief that Derek was still fast asleep. Because if Derek had been naked and awake and calling- _moaning_ out his name, he didn't think his constitution was built to withstand such an onslaught. He'd turn into buttery goo and seep through the floor to the basement below, where he'd die and go the heaven. Or hell.

"_St- Stiles..._"

_Oh. My. God._ He had lost totally control of his body now; it wasn't moving on its own. His feet were taking him closer to the bed and there was a huge, inappropriate smile on his face and his heart was hammering away to kingdom come and-

"_Stiles...please..._"

_Ahhhhhh..._ He froze. He totally couldn't have told if that scream had been internal or external. Derek, thankfully, did not wake up spluttering either way. And then of course the universe always has to find a way to actually screw him up. Or maybe it's just his own stupidity and he keeps blaming it on the universe. Either way, he managed to trip over a piece of clothing- _oh god, Derek's black leather jacket_, lying on the floor and in his attempt to maneuver himself back on his feet, might have flailed about just a wee little bit, knocking Derek's beside lamp off the table in the process and sending it crashing to the floor. _He was so dead, he might just as well stand right here and enjoy the view while it lasted._

Then Derek muttered something and flopped on his back. _Sweet holy fuck!_ Stiles was going to die a very happy man indeed. If he made out of this alive, he could do away with porn completely and simply thrive off the memory of this once scene for the rest of his life. Because Derek. Morning wood. _Asdfghjkl..._

"Stiles...?" Derek slurred in confusion as his wandering eyes finally landed on him; then they widened, followed by an instant scramble for the covers and a pulling of said covers over his scrumptious nakedness, denying Stiles his free view. He may or may not have uttered an obnoxious sound of disappointment.

"**_Stiles, what the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?!_**"

"I- I- "

There was a sudden blue flash and then nothing. Neither of them noticed the figure until she spoke, startling them both. Stiles, of course, had seen her the previous evening too, just before he passed out. In fact, he knew her very well. Or atleast he thought so.

"You're- "

"Hello, Stiles. I am the Gatekeeper. Back from the dead, I see. And all thanks to Derek over there. Dare I say, you two have not wasted time jumping straight into the action."

* * *

**A/N: My Tumblr address is _officiallymarooned dot tumblr dot com_ so you can follow me there if you wanna keep track on the progress or get sneak previews of the latest chapters, or just get in touch with me. Thank you so much for reading. Till chapter 10, take care.**


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